William Andrew Philip Bodie stifled a yawn and shifted uncomfortably in the black Cortina. He rubbed his back against the driver's seat, trying to relieve an itch under his lightweight camouflage jacket.
"Got ants in your pants?" Alan Biggs, in the passenger seat of the parked car, addressed his
companion sourly. Seeing Bodie fidgeting only reminded him that his injured wrist itched something fierce, but he couldn't get at it. His left arm from the elbow down was wrapped in a plaster cast, courtesy of a misstep at the last CI5 arms raid. Biggs had been assigned to this stakeout detail for three weeks, while recuperating from his broken arm. As a sign of Cowley's displeasure with his agent's clumsiness, he had been given Bodie, the most troublesome of the new recruits, as his stakeout partner.
"No. I'm just not used to laying about, watching the grass grow in upwardly mobile Marylebone."
"Oh? Doesn't the Army teach its troops patience, these days?"
"The Army only believes in patience with a purpose, or patience before an attack." Bodie's blue eyes glanced
dismissively at the dark-haired, thirty two year old agent . "You're not combat ready."
Biggs ignored the dig. "What does the 'I' in CI5 stand for?"
"What is this, twenty questions? I've already passed all my tests; I'm a full-fledged agent."
"Not quite, Bodie. You haven't got your official number yet, T1." The new recruits were assigned temporary numbers until George Cowley, the head of CI5, deemed them fully trained and operational members of the Squad and gave them their permanent call numbers. It was an open secret that the digit after the 'T' represented the rookies' standing after their highly intensive training session.
Bodie glanced sharply at Biggs, certain that the agent had mentioned his temporary status on purpose. Dave Phillips, formerly T2, had been assigned the number 2.4 last week, and Bodie was still miffed that he hadn't been the first recruit given full agent status, as he clearly should have been. "'I' is for Intelligence."
"And what are the two 'I's underneath it?"
"Information and investigation."
"Right. And our current stakeout - or grass-watching, as you prefer to call it, encompasses both. I'm sure Cowley told you that everything a CI5 agent does is important. Granted, it isn't always immediately important, but the Old Man works in mysterious ways. We'll get these drug smugglers eventually, and our stakeout will have played some part in the successful conclusion, you'll see."
"Maybe." Bodie reached for the rolled up London Times, and started reading the newspaper's headlines. After twenty minutes of reading he concluded, Nothing much is happening on July 17, 1975. He peered at Biggs,
the older agent was calmly watching the suspect's house. Biggs isn't really that bad, but he's too bossy. Lecturing me like he's the Major himself, when he's only six years older than I am.
"Two-nine. Alpha Charlie calling 2.9, come in."
Alan Biggs reached for the car's R/T. "Two. nine here, sir."
"We have a priority three alert. The IRA has just called and said they've planted a bomb on a tour bus. They're threatening to blow it up unless the government gives them half a million pounds. Can you drive?"
"Yes, sir."
"Good. Proceed immediately towards the Hotel American, it's just off Oxford Street."
"Are we sure it's the IRA, sir?" Biggs asked, opening the passenger door.
"Yes, they gave the correct codes in their message. The bomb is activated by the bus itself. Once the bus reaches 40 miles, the mechanism is set. After that, the bus must stay above 40 miles per hour, or it will explode. The bus just left the Hotel American with a load of Yank tourists a few minutes ago. Its destination is Stonehenge, via the M4. I've spoken to the touring company, their usual route skirts Hyde Park and then picks up the Hammersmith flyover. We have no communication with the bus itself, so I want you and T1 to catch up with it and warn the driver. T.one, you will ascertain the speed of the bus, and -"
"Pull it over if it's under 40, yes sir." Bodie grabbed the R/T from Biggs' good hand.
"Bodie, how long have you been with the squad?"
"Three and a half months, sir."
"Well, that's long enough to have learned that it's foolhardy to interrupt me. It can be lethal to anticipate me. Do I make myself clear?"
"Yes, sir."
"Good. I want to be absolutely certain that the bomb isn't activated before we try to stop that bus. We'll assume the worst case scenario, that the device is already triggered. T.one, I want you to get on that bus and talk to the driver in person. Make sure that bus hasn't gone over 40 miles an hour. Obviously, you'll have to board the bus while it's still in motion. You're the only team that's anywhere near that bus and I'm counting on you.. On your bikes now. Cowley out."
"T.one out." Bodie quickly replaced the R/T, then he and Biggs jumped out of the car, executing one of the fastest Chinese fire drills on record. Biggs settled into the driver's seat, sparing a moment to thank his lucky stars that he'd checked out an automatic from the carpool for today's stakeout, and revved the Cortina's engine. Bodie slammed the passenger door. shut and they took off with a screech of tires. They raced down Bryanston Square's narrow one-way lane then turned left onto George Street, with a sharp left onto Great Cumberland Place a scant half-block later. Biggs flicked on his siren and sped to the intersection, where Cumberland met Oxford Street, by the Marble Arch. "There it is!" he shouted, spotting the red double decker bus with bright green lettering "Tour England Today" on its side. The bus turned from Oxford Street onto Park Lane, rapidly gaining speed. "Get on the R/T and tell Cowley we have visual contact."
Bodie reached for the car's R/T as Biggs took advantage of a gap in the oncoming cross-traffic and zipped the Cortina around the right side of the Marble Arch and onto Park Lane.
"No. Use your own R/T, Bodie. Make sure it's working, I have a feeling you'll be needing it later on."
Bodie nodded and pulled out his receiver/transmitter from his jacket pocket. "T.one to Alpha Charlie. We have the bus in sight. It just turned onto Park Lane and we're in pursuit. Sir, the speed limit on Park Lane is 50!"
"Roger, T.one. Let me know when you're on that bus. Alpha out."
"That was plain enough," Bodie remarked as he closed his R/T and put it back in his pocket. He picked up the field glasses he'd used earlier and scanned the back of the bus, four cars in front of them. "No open entrance from the back," he said, then directed his attention to the bus's open-air top level. "There's a couple of handrails leading up to the roof."
"The roof? How're you going to get up there?"
Bodie rolled down the window and ran his left hand along the Cortina's roof, feeling the luggage rack on top. "Get us kitty corner to the bus's back end on the right hand side. I'll climb out the window and brace myself on our roof, then jump over to the bus."
"Bodie! That's insane!" Biggs sped up and passed two of the intervening cars between them and the bus.
"You have to be crazy to work in CI5!" Bodie quoted the agency's unofficial motto. "I think you should kill the siren, Biggs. We don't want our bus driver to pull over and slow down because he thinks there's cops or an ambulance behind him."
"Right." Biggs flicked off the siren and darted into the right hand lane. Putting the gas pedal to the floor, he caught up with the bus's back end.
"Now for the tricky bit. At least Park Lane doesn't have any intersections." Bodie eased himself out of the open passenger's window and momentarily sat on the door frame. Then he placed his feet on the passenger seat and stood up. Grabbing the front piece of the luggage rack, he lifted his right foot and braced it on the bottom of the window frame, then placed his left foot alongside it, crouching along the car's side. He banged one hand on the Cortina's hood and Biggs sped up, placing the Cortina alongside the bus, maneuvering Bodie within grasping range of the red painted metal railings on the bus's rear.
Bodie concentrated on the railings, and jumped, propelling himself from the Cortina. His outstretched hands caught one of the upper railings and he held on, legs dangling. His feet scrabbled for purchase, one of them landing on
the lowest railing. Bodie brought his other foot to rest on the next lowest rung and took a couple of deep breaths.
Then he carefully climbed up the railings and onto the top deck, falling into the backseat.
Glancing around, he was surprised to discover that the entire top level of the bus was deserted. He pulled out his R/T. "T.one to 2.9. Tell Alpha I'm on the bus. I'm on my way down to talk to the driver."
"Roger, T.one. Good luck."
"Stick around, Biggs. Might need you to run interference with the traffic."
"Sure, Bodie, standing by."
Pocketing his R/T, Bodie strode down the aisle, automatically counting the rows of seats. ...Seven, eight, nine. Figure four people per row, plus the driver and there's almost 40 hostages. Reaching the tight stairway at the front of the bus, he clambored down the narrow steps to the lower level, emerging close to the driver's box. As with most of the vintage double deckers, the driver's compartment extended further out than the left-hand side of the bus, giving the front end an asymmetrical, pushed-in look. The front entrance with its folding doors was on the right hand side of the bus, directly behind the driver's cab. Across the aisle from the stair entrance, a curly-haired young man slouched in the slightly smaller than standard double seat. He quickly rose to his feet, "What's going on?"
Bodie took in the man's navy suit jacket with TET embroidered in green on the breast pocket. The tour guide. Great. Well, at least he's English. Pulling his identification from his pants pocket, Bodie said. "CI5, mate."
The guide's green eyes widened, then narrowed. "I take it we have a problem?"
"Yeah." Bodie stepped backwards and the tour guide stepped with him, practically at his elbow in the confined space. Bodie almost said something, then checked as he looked over the bus driver's shoulder to the speedometer. The needle pointed to 45. "Bloody hell!" Bodie cursed softly, then took a half-step into the driver's compartment and tapped the gray haired man driving the bus on the shoulder, urgently leaning closer.
"CI5, sir." Out of habit, he addressed the much older man politely. "Keep on driving, fast. We've had a bomb threat called in, but you'll be fine as long as you keep the bus above 40. You understand, sir? Stay above 40."
"Yes, sir," the driver gulped, his whitish moustache quivering. "But we're not very far from the Knightsbridge intersection, and the speed limit on Knightsbridge is 30!"
The tour guide put a hand on the driver's shoulder and said calmly, "That's okay, Dan. Just keep driving 45. We'll think of something."
Bodie frowned, then glanced out the window to his right. He saw cars speeding in the opposite direction on the other half of Park Lane's double carriageway, separated by a broad meridian. Then he shifted his focus, scanning ahead and spotted a break in the meridian, where the Stanhope gate was. "That's it!" He grabbed his R/T from his pocket. "Two.nine. Are you still with me?"
"Right next to you, T.one."
"Good. Hit the siren and get in front of the bus! We're going to loop around to the other side of Park Lane by the Curzon gate break. It's the second U-turn coming up -we're too close to the first one to try it now. We'll have to do 45 all the way. Both of us. Do you copy?"
"Roger, T.one." Biggs' confident voice came over the R/T and a second later, Bodie heard a siren's wail.
"Did you follow that?" he asked the bus driver, who nodded. "Let him get ahead of us, but don't slow down to do it. Biggs is driving a black Cortina. There it is!" Bodie and the driver watched as the Cortina sped past on their right hand side, leaving an empty space in its wake as the traffic slowed behind it. Dan flicked on his right turn signal and pulled into the adjacent lane, directly behind the speeding Cortina.
"Go and sit down," Bodie spoke to the guide, "We're in for a bumpy ride."
The tour guide nodded and stepped back to his left towards his seat. He picked up the hand microphone conveniently installed in front of his seat. "Ladies and gentlemen, may I have your attention, please." He paused a second while the passengers all looked up. "We are having some difficulties with the brakes." A concerned murmuring broke out. "Relax, we are working on a solution and will shortly have one. Meanwhile, we are going to maintain our present speed and change over to the other side of Park Lane through an upcoming U-turn. Stay seated, remain calm and brace yourself, as we will be taking the U-turn rather fast. And don't be alarmed by the siren, it's just an escort car, clearing the way for us." He hung up the microphone and sat down.
Seconds later, Bodie sat down next to him. "A brake problem?"
"Well, I had to tell 'em something, and it's less alarming than the truth." The answer was quietly spoken, so that only Bodie could hear it.
Bodie glanced to their right, trying to see beyond the stairway that obstructed his view. "We're coming up on Curzon gate," Bodie said, grabbing the seat edge with his right hand. The bus veered sharply right, and Bodie felt the the tour guide leaning into him. He braced his feet and winced as the bus hit a kerb, but it didn't slow down, and suddenly they were traveling in the opposite direction.
Bodie grinned at the man sitting next to him, "We made it, mate!"
The green-eyed guide returned his smile and Bodie noticed the man's slightly misshapened right cheekbone. "So we did. Name's Doyle, by the way, Ray Doyle." He extended a hand and Bodie took it.
"Bodie, just Bodie. Glad to meet you, Doyle." .Bodie then jumped to his feet. He took two quick steps over to the bus driver's box. "Good job, mate. You did it!" He pounded the driver on the back, congratulating him.
"Ow!" Dan gasped, "Can't breathe! And my left arm hurts!" He kept both hands on the wheel, but Bodie saw that his left hand only loosely held the steering wheel. Bodie noticed that the driver had paled considerably, and beads of sweat dotted his face.
Bodie glanced hurriedly towards the tour guide and whistled sharply. Ray Doyle looked up and the CI5 agent jerked his head in a 'come over here' gesture.
"What's up, mate?" The guide joined him behind the bus driver's seat.
"I think he's having a heart attack. He said he can't breathe and his left arm is hurting." Bodie hurriedly filled the tour guide in.
Doyle leaned over to the driver, "Dan, it's Ray. Do you hurt anywhere else? Feel nauseous at all?"
"Yeah, I do. Feel pressure in my chest."
"Okay, Dan, we'll see what we can do." The guide turned to the agent. "Think you're right, mate. We've got to get him out from behind the wheel and lay him down somewhere." He glanced backward, noting that the stairwell at least partially blocked the passengers' view of the front of the bus. "Look, he's still conscious. You get him over to my seat and then get on the mike and see if there's a doctor in the house. I'll take over driving the bus."
"Can you drive it, mate?" Bodie asked doubtfully.
"Well, I can't make it do wheelies like me motorbike, but I can drive it." Doyle bent over to talk to the driver. "Dan, I'm gonna take over driving. Keep your foot on the petrol until you feel my foot sliding into place. Then stand up and slide out the left side of the seat, Bodie here will help you. I'll be sliding in on the right. Okay? Let's do it."
Doyle's right foot slid next to Dan's and onto the petrol pedal. The elderly bus driver relinquished his grip on the wheel and painfully tried to stand. Bodie grabbed him by his upper arms and slowly pulled Dan from the driver's seat while Doyle slid smoothly behind the wheel in his place. Doyle checked the speedometer, only 41 and he hurriedly exerted more pressure on the gas pedal. His hands confidently gripped the oversized steering wheel and he closed the gap between the bus and the black Cortina.
Bodie, meanwhile, had supported the driver the short distance over to Doyle's seat and laid him down. The driver's head rested on the end of the bench closest to the window, rump at the aisle end, legs bent at the knees and dangling off to the right side. Then Bodie grabbed the guide's mike and clicked it on. "Ladies and gentlemen, is there a doctor on board? We have a man in serious need of medical attention, please, if there's a doctor here, join me at the front of the bus. Thank you."
Two men stood up and walked towards the front of the bus. "I'm a doctor," the first man, a middle-aged gentleman with a thin moustache and thick East Texas drawl said. The second doctor, a tall man in his late thirties joined them "What seems to be the trouble?"
Bodie indicated the bus driver, lying on the front left seat. "I think he's having a heart attack."
"Good lord, man, that's the driver!" The younger man took two steps to the left, then crouched down on his knees to examine the patient. He loosened Dan's collar while the Texan stooped next to Dan, feeling for a pulse. "Who's driving the bus?"
"The tour guide is," Bodie said smoothly, "He's been trained to take over in an emergency situation, and this certainly qualifies as that."
"And who, exactly are you, anyway? You weren't on the bus when we left the hotel." The younger doctor didn't wait for Bodie's answer, instead he leaned over his patient and spoke, "Sir? Are you all right? Can you hear me?"
The driver didn't answer and the older doctor, now also on his knees beside him, said, "I'm not getting a pulse."
"He's not breathing, either, " the younger doctor determined. He tilted Dan's head back, opened his mouth and swept a finger around inside it, checking for obstructions tot he airway. Then he pinched the victim's nose closed and began rescue breathing. Bodie watched as the other doctor pushed the driver's gold chain with a cross and St. Christopher's medal out of the way, then placed both hands over the man's chest, preparatory to starting CPR. The doctors counted breaths quietly, working in tandem to keep their patient alive.
A whistle caught Bodie's attention, and he glanced up.
"Bodie!" It was Doyle, in the driver's seat.
Bodie stepped quickly over to the driver's box, and leaned over Doyle's shoulder. "Yeah?"
"We're going to reach the end of Park Lane, soon. I know there's another U-turn ahead, by the Brook gate, but I can't make that turn, mate. Not at forty-some miles an hour, and keep the bus under control." Doyle's voice was calm; he knew the limits of his bus driving skills and was stating them.
Bodie absorbed the words silently, trying to come up with an alternative.
"'Ve got an idea," Doyle said suddenly, "We can circle around Marble Arch, and get back on the other side of Park Lane!"
"Marble Arch! D'you know what the traffic is like around the Arch now?"
"There's no other option. The square around the Arch is wide enough that I can get us around it and still maintain our speed. Your mate can drive ahead of us, and keep the traffic out of the way, like before."
"Okay," Bodie agreed, then pulled out his R/T. "Two.nine, this is T.one, come in."
"Two.nine, here."
"More problems, mate. The bus driver had a heart attack and the guide's taken over the driving. He can't make the U-turn at the last gate, so we're going around Marble Arch to get turned around. We need you to warn the traffic that we're coming, like before."
"Roger."
"And tell the Old Man that we can't keep bouncing back and forth on Park Lane like a bloody ping pong ball!"
"Alpha's working on a police escort for you to the M4, but it takes time."
"Tell Alpha that time goes by fast at 40 miles an hour."
"You tell him, mate. He wants to talk directly with you, when you have a tick. Two.nine out." Immediately after Biggs signed off, the Cortina's siren could be heard.
Giving Doyle an encouraging pat on the shoulder, Bodie stepped away from the driver's box and picked up the microphone. He noticed that the two Yank doctors were still hard at work, giving CPR to their patient. "Ladies and gentlemen, your attention, please." As the passengers all looked towards him, Bodie noticed that there were some children among them. Mostly teenagers, but a couple were definitely under ten years old. We're in a bit of a sticky whicket, here, he thought. "We have an emergency. The bus driver has had a heart attack, and the tour guide is now driving the bus. We still have our brake problem, so we're going to go around the Marble Arch roundabout to get to the other side of Park Lane. Please remain calm and stay in your seats. Brace yourselves, we'll be taking the turn pretty fast." Bodie hung up the microphone, then took a single step over to the doctors. "How's he doing?"
"No change," the Texan replied, "but we haven't given up, not by a long shot, sonny."
"Good," Bodie said, then sat down on the floor, next to the doctor. He extended his legs, bracing them against the metal supports that bolted the patient's seat to the bus floor. He placed his left hand firmly over the Dan's legs, and clutched the seat bottom with his right hand, attempting to anchor them both for the rough ride.
Meanwhile, Ray Doyle watched the speeding Cortina as it sailed into the Marble Arch roundabout. He followed, turning the bus wheel sharply to the left, hand over hand, noting that at least the light was green as they roared past it. He let the wheel slide clockwise through his hands, then started cranking the wheel sharply right, following the Cortina onto Tyburn Way, the western boundary of the rectangle of roads that surrounded the Marble Arch. Not really a turnabout, or even a square, at all, Doyle thought inconsequentially as he started another sharp turn to the right, still trailing the black Cortina. He took a butcher's at the speedometer, they were doing 42 miles per hour and he applied a little more pressure to the gas pedal. The Cortina in front of him made the last turn to the right just as the light changed from yellow to red. Doyle yanked the wheel sharply to the right and floored the pedal so that he practically rode the Cortina's bumper through the red light.
Horns sounded and brakes squealed as the cross traffic tried to get out of the way of the bus, but Doyle heard no horrendous clashes of car meeting car. Doyle breathed a sigh of relief, the last side of the Arch led straight into Park Lane, and about two minutes of smooth sailing, until they reached the Curzon gate break again.
"Carry on, old son. I'm gonna talk to my guv'nor." Bodie said, at his shoulder again. He slapped Doyle's arm. "Good job, mate."
Bodie stepped back from the driver's box and, after a quick glance at the doctors and bus driver occupying the left front seat, he climbed the stairs to the upper level, wanting privacy for this conversation.
Once topside, he sat on the first seat he saw and withdrew his R/T. "T.one to Alpha. T.one to Alpha, priority channel. Come in, please."
"Alpha here," George Cowley's voice immediately came over the R/T. "What's your situation, T.one?"
"The bus driver had a heart attack about five minutes ago, the tour guide is driving the bus. He's doing a
good--"
"He?" Cowley interrupted. "The scheduled tour guide for that bus is a woman, Bodie. Lisa Fairden."
"What? But the driver knew Doyle, sir."
"Try to find out more information from Doyle, lad. What's his full name?"
"Ray Doyle, sir."
"And I'll check from my end. Now, Bodie, have you had any luck finding the bomb?"
"No, sir, but then, I really haven't had time to look yet, what with the heart attack and zinging back and forth down Park Lane."
If Cowley heard the sarcastic note in Bodie's voice, he ignored it. "You've got to find that bomb, Bodie, that's your top priority."
"Respectfully, sir, the bus driver needs to get to hospital, top priority, too."
"I'm in communication with the bomber, Bodie. I'll see what I can do, but I'm not promising anything. The IRA isn't known for negotiating."
"Tell 'em he's a good Catholic, sir," Bodie said, remembering Dan's gold necklace. "It might cut him some slack."
"Aye, laddie," Cowley said thoughtfully.
"And we can't keep circling Park Lane forever, sir."
"I'm working on that, too. We've almost got an escort assembled to get you to the M4 via the Hammersmith flyover, but it'll be another five minutes."
"Five minutes!" Bodie looked ahead, seeing the Park Lane-Knightbridge intersection looming in the distance. "That's at least two more times around Park Lane."
"I know, T.one. I'll let you know ASAP when you can alter your route. Meanwhile, find that bomb. Alpha Charlie, out."
"Yes, sir, out." Bodie replaced the R/T then stood and swung down the steps to the lower level. He stepped over to the driver's box and leaned over to talk to Doyle. "'Ve got good news and bad news, mate."
"What's the good news?"
"My guv'nor almost has a police escort set up for us to the Hammersmith flyover."
"And the bad news?"
"'Almost' means at least another five minutes."
Doyle digested that quickly. "Bodie, there's not much difference between the Brook gate and the Curzon gate. And if I can't steer around one, I can't get us around the other one, either."
"You have to, Doyle," Bodie said fiercely. "There's no other option."
Doyle glanced at the rear view mirror and met the CI5 agent's determined blue eyes. "Okay. One quick turn around the Curzon gate coming up."
Bodie nodded, then strode over to the microphone. "Here we go again. Hold on." He spoke rapidly, replaced the instrument, then positioned himself in the aisle. He grabbed the back of what was normally the tour guide's front row seat with his left hand and pressed his right hand on Dan's thigh, securing the injured man for the bumpy turn. Sparing a glance for the doctors, he saw that they were both kneeling and completely occupied by their patient's welfare.
The bus veered suddenly to the right and a few seconds later, its left wheel climbed over the kerb and stayed there, giving the bus a decided tilt. A few of the tourists screamed, but the bus kept speeding through the turn. Somehow, it made the turn successfully and the left wheels returned to the lower pavement with a jarring bump. Then the bus straightened out and continued to zip down the opposite side of the divided carriageway. Bodie took two giant steps to the driver's box and pounded Doyle on the back. "You lied, mate. You can make it do wheelies!"
Doyle grinned in acknowledgment, but kept his eyes on the road ahead. He noticed that the black Cortina was still in front of them, and it had just kept its siren on after their last turn. He continued to follow the Cortina, confirming that the bus was traveling at an acceptable 44 miles per hour.
Bodie pulled out his R/T. "Two.nine, I just spoke to the Old Man and we've got five minutes to kill. So, twice more around the park and don't spare the horses. We'll be doing the Marble Arch again, next."
"Roger, T.1. Out."
Pocketing the R/T, Bodie checked the road ahead, judging how close they were to their next pass around the Marble Arch. He walked over to the microphone and picked it up. It was past time to let the passengers know what was going on. "Ladies and gentlemen," he dug his identification out of his back pocket as everyone looked expectantly towards him. Holding his credentials open, Bodie began. "My name is Bodie and I'm with CI5 - that's Criminal Intelligence Five. We're part of Her Majesty's security forces."
"Are you with the Special Branch?" a gentlemen in the third row asked.
"No, Special Branch is part of the police force. CI5 is not the police, we handle special cases and security matters, reporting directly to the Home Secretary."
"So why are you here, on a bus with bad brakes?" another man asked suspiciously.
"Mr. Doyle wasn't entirely truthful about the brakes. The IRA claims they've planted a bomb on the bus, and it will go off if our speed is less than 40 miles per hour." A shocked silence met his statement and Bodie continued, "My guv -er boss, George Cowley, is setting up an escort to get us to the M4 - the closest highway. But it'll take a few minutes, and we'll have to wait. The speed limit on Park Lane is 45, which is why we're staying on it, until I hear otherwise. So try to stay calm, and remember, you're under CI5's protection, and we're very, very good at taking care of things."
"And you, Mr. Bodie? Are you any good?" the man from the third row challenged.
"I have never lost a man or woman under my care in all my time at CI5." Bodie's answer was crisp, professional and confident. He clicked off the mike and placed it back in its holder, then took in the two doctors by kneeling quietly by Dan, no longer applying CPR.
"What's wrong, doc?" Bodie spoke softly to the nearest physician. "Is he--?"
"He's breathing on his own," the Texan answered, quickly. "He's unconscious and not out of the woods yet. He really should be in a hospital."
"We're working on it, doc - but negotiating takes time."
"Let's hope it's time he has," the younger doctor spoke for the first time, "Time we all have." He shifted position, so that instead of kneeling he was just sitting on the floor. The older doctor and Bodie joined him in sitting, all keeping some sort of hold on Dan as they prepared for another go around the Marble Arch.
The next few minutes passed in an alternately fast and slow blur of sharp, bumpy turns and cruising down the straight stretches of Park Lane, accompanied by the wailing sirens of the preceding Cortina. As they approached the Curzon gate for the second time, Bodie listened intently, hoping to hear the beep of his R/T. When he heard nothing, he tightened his grip on the seat, tensing for another U-turn around the gate. This time, they made the turn without the left tires climbing over the kerb. Doyle's a fast learner, Bodie thought. He'd already determined that he wasn't going to ask Doyle why he was playing tour guide until they were away from Park Lane. And he couldn't really do an accurate bomb search until then, either, not with being interrupted by sharp turns every minute and a half or so.
Speaking of which, it's just about time for the Marble Arch again, Bodie checked out Dan, still breathing on his own and oblivious to everything going on. You've got the right idea there, mate. But he did not sign up with CI5 to be an ostrich, ignorant of the seamier side of life. Hell, he knew the seamier side, was intimately acquainted with some of it. As Cowley explained it, one of CI5's main purposes was to prevent first-hand knowledge of the seamier side of life from spreading, "To keep this Isle smelling, even if ever so faintly, of heather and roses."
The bus charged around the Marble Arch and back onto the other side of Park Lane. Bodie's R/T beeped a few seconds later. He got to his feet and yanked out his R/T as he stepped over to the space behind the driver's box.
"T.one, this is Alpha. I've got your route."
"T.one here. Go, sir."
"Take a right on Knightsbridge, you'll pick up your escort there, six cars. Turn left on Brompton Road - that's less than half a mile down Knightsbridge. Then veer right onto Cromwell and keep going until you reach the Hammersmith flyover to the M4, about 3 miles. Take the M4 west, we're still trying to come up with a destination after that."
"Roger, Alpha. Any luck getting the bus driver to hospital?"
Cowley snorted. "He said he's sympathetic, but he won't let us slow the bus down to remove the driver."
Bodie glanced at the stairs leading to the top level. "What if we could remove him without slowing down the bus? Would he go for that?"
"How d'ye plan on doing that, laddie?"
"Just ask him, I'll tell you later, sir. I need to fill Doyle in on our route. T.one out." Bodie replaced his R/T and tapped Doyle on the shoulder. "Don't take the Curzon turn, mate. Keep on going up to Knightsbridge and turn left. Our escort should meet us there. Then turn left onto Brompton Road, then veer right onto Cromwell. Take Cromwell all the way to the flyover for the M4 and get on the M4 heading west."
Doyle nodded, watching as the Curzon gate slid by on their right. He kept following Biggs' car and shortly reached the Knightsbridge intersection. The wailing of the Cortina's siren became augmented by more two-toned police sirens as three police panda cars rolled in front of the bus, down Knightsbridge. Three more fell in behind the bus, which stayed in the fast lane, while most of the other traffic pulled to a halt in the left kerb lane.
Trailing the fast-moving escort, Doyle drove the bus down Knightsbridge, nodding as Bodie pointed out the sign for Brompton Road. He followed the pandas onto Brompton Road, maintaining a steady 45 mph speed. Bodie stepped over to the mike and spoke into it, "We've picked up our police escort and are heading for the M4, hte highway. It's about three and a half miles west of here. From here on out, no more U-turns. I would like you all to remain seated while I take a butcher's - er, check your area for the bomb. Thank you." He put down the microphone and walked back to Doyle. "My guv'nor says the tour guide is a woman, name of--"
"Lisa Fairden, yeah, she's my girl friend," Doyle anticipated him, "She wasn't feeling well when we she woke up and asked me if I could sub for her. I've done it before. I'm an art student, and I know more about Stonehenge and the like than Lisa's little spiel. And I can get some drawing in, while the tourists are out and about. Lisa's guv'nor knows about this, he even got me a jacket."
Bodie listened; a plausible story, but... "Aren't you a little old to be a student, still?"
"Didn't go to college straight from my A-levels, mate. Spent a few years as a general factotum in the school of hard knocks first, dinne I?"
"I'm starting a recce for the bomb. Just keep following the coppers, eh?"
"Sure, Bodie. What about Dan?"
"He's hanging in there, got two doctors all to himself." Bodie stepped away from Doyle's box and over to the Dan and his doctors. "How's he doing?"
"Unchanged. Are we any closer to getting him to a hospital?" the younger physician asked.
"Might be. Is he mobile, doc? Could we get him to the upper deck, if we had to?"
"Well, he really shouldn't be jostled, but yes, we can move him, if we have to. Why?"
"'M trying to arrange an airlift for Dan, once we're on the highway."
"Like the Lifeflight helicopters back home?" the older doctor drawled, "That's a good idea, son."
"I'm going to check the upper deck. Make sure there's no bomb or other booby traps waiting for us, first." The doctors nodded and Bodie took the stairs up to the top level. He glanced around, the wind ruffling his close-cropped dark hair. They were just passing the Natural History Museum, on Cromwell Road. He stooped down to check the underside of the first seat and spotted nothing amiss. He rose and pulled out his R/T as he sat down. "T.one to Alpha, come in, sir."
"Alpha here, T.one."
"Did the bomber agree to removing the driver, as long as the bus kept up its speed?"
"Yes, now what do you have in mind, Bodie?"
"An airlift, sir. I can get him up to the open top level, and we'll rendezvous with a chopper. They'll have to hover overhead and pick him up in a rescue gurney. It won't be a piece of cake, but it can work, sir."
"Aye, laddie, I think you're right. We won't be able to rendezvous until you're on the M4, too many buildings in the way in the city, but I'll get on it. Where are you now?"
"On Cromwell Road, just past the museums, sir."
"Good. I'll let you know when we're in position. Did you check out Doyle?"
"Yeah, he was filling in for his girl, Lisa Fairden. She got sick and he's done it before. He's an art student, sir, well-versed in all the tour subjects."
"I see. Any luck with the bomb?"
"Haven't found it yet, sir. Continuing to search. T.one out."
"Alpha out."
Bodie slipped the R/T into his pocket and began searching the top deck in earnest. Ignoring the wind generated by the speeding bus, he rapidly but thoroughly checked the seats, seatbacks, and undersides for any explosive devices and came up empty. Satisfied that the top level was bomb-free, Bodie descended the stairs.
He tossed a look at Dan and the doctors in the front seat, then stooped to check underneath it, just in case. It was clean, and he stood up, ready to start the second row. Then he paused, eying the narrow stairway to the upper deck. He'd certainly seen nothing suspicious in his several times up and down the stairs already, but... Bodie sharply re-examined the visible part of the stairs, then stepped over to examine its underside, but the access to it was blocked by a small triangular door. Bodie bent down and opened the unlocked door. Inside there was a small first aide kit and a red metal box, about the size of a large tackle box. Bodie listened intently, then carefully placed a hand on the red box and felt gingerly along its top. No unusual bumps or hot spots. He slowly and cautiously undid the clasp and gently raised the lid. The box proved to be harmless, containing only tools; a hammer, a wrench, and assorted screw drivers, nails and bolts. False alarm, and the rest of the space revealed only a tire jack, a couple of cans of Fix-A-Flat, two sack lunches, and a heavy-duty torchlight. Bodie picked it up and turned it on, directing its beam to the undersides of the stairsteps, again finding nothing out of place, or unusual. He clicked off the torch and left it in the storage space, closed the door and rose to his feet.
Bodie glanced out the window at the passing road, noting that they were still on Cromwell. A road sign indicated that it was a mile to the Hammersmith Flyover, the entrance to the M4. He walked over to the second row of seats, the first one with benches on both sides of the aisle and stooped to look under the left hand seats. Hew extended his hand and felt around the seat's underside, too. Nothing. He smiled at the seated passengers, a man and a woman in their thirties, then turned to check out the seats on the other side. Two seventeen year old girls in short skirts smiled from their seats. "Excuse me, ladies," Bodie returned their smile and ducked down to examine the underneath their seats, hands extended. "Are you comfortable, ladies? No funny bumps in the cushions, eh?"
"Only goosebumps," the first girl answered while the second one giggled.
"That's all right, then." Bodie rose and walked back to the doctors at the front of the bus. "Are you ready to move him to the top deck? We'll be on the highway shortly and we could be hearing from the chopper any minute now. Do you need any assistance getting him up the stairs? The benches are the same as down here, only windier."
"Well, I wouldn't say no to another set of hands to help lift him. The smoother we can carry him, the better. But I don't think more than three people can get up those stairs at once," the younger doctor said.
"Agreed, doctor," the Texan said. "I think we'll have to use the fireman's carry. Not ideal, but the best we can do, under the circumstances." He addressed the other doctor, "Do you want to carry him or bring up the rear, Ted?"
"I'll carry him, Phil." The younger doctor stooped and Bodie and the Texan carefully placed Dan on him, piggyback-style, with his arms draped around Ted's neck. The young doctor grasped his patient's hands and stood up slowly. He took two steps to the open stairway and Phil fell in behind.
"Phil," Bodie tapped the Texan, "I'll send someone up to keep an eye out for the helicopter, so you two can keep watch over Dan." Phil nodded, then patiently plodded up the stairs, right behind his patient.
Bodie stepped over to the couple in the second row. "Excuse me, but I need a favor."
"What can we do, Mr. Bodie?" the woman asked, having overheard and watched most of the activity in the front row. "By the way, we're the Barkers. Ellen and Peter."
"How d'you do. Look, Ellen, I need one or both of you to go topside. We're going to get the driver to hospital via a helicopter. Just keep a lookout for the chopper and let me know when you see it, I'll be down here, checking out the rest of the bus. I've already examined the top level, and it's perfectly safe - no bombs."
"We'll do it. C'mon, Pete." Ellen rose to her feet and her husband followed. They walked over to the stairway and ascended to the top level.
Bodie backtracked to the driver's box, to confer briefly with Doyle. "Hey, mate, how's it going?"
"We're almost to the flyover, Bodie. I'm getting a headache from the sirens, but I'm glad they're still with us." Doyle flicked on the turn indicator and followed the third panda car up the ramp and onto the M4. Merging with the traffic was easy, as most of it had dropped back at the sound of the approaching sirens. Once on the highway, both the police cars and Doyle increased their speed to 50 some miles per hour. "Do you know where we're going, yet?"
"Not yet, but we're sure going there in a hurry. We've also got company coming, by air. We're going to remove Dan by a rescue litter, from the roof. He's already up there, now, with the doctors. So don't be alarmed if you hear a chopper nearby, they're the good guys. Now, I've got to continue my bomb recce." Bodie stepped away from the driver's box and down the aisle to where he left off, in the third row.
He just finished inspecting the fifth row, the halfway point, when he Cowley R/T'd a brief message that the chopper was almost there, and it contained some useful items for him. He heard footsteps approaching. from the front.
"Mr. Bodie!" Ellen called. "We spotted the helicopter!"
Bodie jumped to his feet and followed Ellen back up the aisle. They climbed the stairs to the upper deck, and Bodie quickly took his bearings. Dan was stretched out on the first bench and the two doctors were seated right behind him. Peter sat opposite the doctors, facing the rear of the bus as he tracked the helicopter that was advancing on them. Ellen stood next to Peter, and they were all huddled close to the front of the bus, giving the chopper as much maneuvering room as possible. Bodie remembered the field glasses he'd left in Biggs' Cortina and cursed softly. They would've come in handy, now. "Stay put," he shouted to everyone, above the wind. Let the chopper come to us."
They watched as the helicopter approached, then overlapped them. Bodie estimated the chopper was thirty feet higher than the bus top when the aircraft's rear door opened and a rope with a gurney at its end was haltingly lowered towards the bus. Bodie walked down the aisle to the center of the bus and caught one side of the rescue litter. Looking inside, he saw blankets, a coiled length of rope, and a two and a half foot lead pipe. He removed the pipe and rope, placing them underneath the nearest seat. Bodie tugged on the litter, bringing it to rest lightly on top of two middle seatbacks. The chopper hovered overhead and Bodie whistled and gestured to the waiting group as he held up a blanket.
Ellen walked towards Bodie and grabbed the blanket, taking it back to the doctors. They folded the blanket and placed Dan on top of it, using the blanket as a temporary litter to carry the stricken man down the aisle to the waiting gurney. Bodie helped the doctors lift Dan into the airborne stretcher and carefully strap him down. Then they backed away and the helicopter rose, lifting the rescue litter off the bus. They watched as the chopper turned around, heading for the closest hospital.
Bodie indicated that everyone should go back downstairs and pulled out his R/T as they all left. "T.one to Alpha. The chopper's on its way back to you. I got your pressies."
"Good, T.1. they'll come in useful later." Cowley's voice came over the R/T. "Have you located a bomb?"
"No, but I still haven't finished my search, yet." Bodie winced, anticipating the Old Man's reprimand.
Cowley's next words surprised him, though. "I finished my search on Doyle, Bodie. No one named Ray Doyle is a registered art student at any university or college in the greater London area. Or at any art school, not even as a part-time student."
Bodie digested the news. "What about the girl, sir? Does she back his story?"
"Yes. She says he's her boy friend, and he has filled in for her before. I don't like it, T.1. What if Doyle's in cahoots with the bomber?"
"Then why would he be driving the bus, or even on it. If he knew it was rigged with explosives, why would he be anywhere near it?"
"And what if there's no bomb on board, and this is all just an elaborate extortion scheme? And Doyle's just on the bus to keep an eye on you?"
"No. I don't buy it, sir."
"All right, laddie. You haven't found the bomb, you said, correct?"
"Yes, sir, no bomb."
"What if Doyle's carrying the bomb? Suicide bombers are not unheard of in the Middle East, and the IRA can be just as fanatical as they are."
"Then why hasn't he triggered the bomb yet? He'd have had maximum effect blowing up the bus in London.
No, sir, you're wrong about Doyle. He might not be an art student, but he's no terrorist."
"Are you sure, Bodie?"
"Yes, sir. I'd stake my life on it."
"You have, Bodie. And the lives of thirty six innocent tourists." Cowley cleared his throat. "We've got to know where that bomb is, if it's there at all. Find it. Alpha out."
"Roger. T-one out, sir." Bodie repocketed his R/T and descended to the lower level. He turned right and stopped behind the driver, leaning over to tap Doyle's shoulder. "How're you doing, mate?" Almost without realising it, he studied Doyle's jacket, deciding it was too snugly tailored to conceal any explosives.
"Just peachy. Do we know where we're going, yet?"
"No, just keep going west, young man."
"All right, mate. But we can only go 'til Land's End or we run out of petrol -whichever. comes first."
"Petrol! Didn't even think about that," Bodie glanced at the tank indicator, relieved to see it still over half-full.. "You're a regular Mary Sunshine, mate. I'm going to finish searching the bus."
Doyle flicked a glance at the rear view mirror as Bodie walked towards the back of the bus.
Bodie passed the first five rows and started looking under the seats in the sixth row, resuming his interrupted task where he left off. He thoroughly examined each seat and its surrounding area, taking the time to talk quietly, flirt or joke with the passengers as the situation warranted. Eventually, he reached the last row, and still no sign of the bomb. The bus' original back entrance had been welded over and turned into a storage cubbyhole, its shelving holding tour pamphlets and six large hampers of food stacked carefully on the floor. After painstakingly searching the whole storage area, Bodie returned to the front of the bus, studying the ceiling -only place I haven't looked yet -as he walked down the aisle. He smiled at Peter and Ellen Barker as he passed them and noted that both of the doctors had also resumed their regular seats. Bodie found himself back at the driver's box.
"Any luck?" Doyle asked, catching sight of Bodie in the rear mirror.
"No joy," Bodie took a deep breath, "I've searched this bus from top to bottom, every conceivable place I can think of," he took another breath, scarcely aware that his voice became louder, "and I can't find hide nor hare of a bomb."
"Okay. You've searched the bus and haven't found a bomb, right?"
"Yeah," Bodie answered impatiently. Why is Doyle stating the obvious?
"So you're convinced that there's no bomb on the bus? And I can, say, take me foot off the petrol--?"
"No! Are you nuts, Doyle? There's a --"
"Bomb on the bus," Doyle broke in, finishing the CI5 man's sentence. "Why do you still think that, despite being unable to locate the bomb?"
"Because - because Cowley said the man used the correct IRA codes and -"
"And that lot doesn't mess around when it comes to bombs. So there is a bomb on board, somewhere. You must've overlooked something, Bodie."
"But what? I've searched every bloody place there is on this bus and nothing!" Frustrated, Bodie stamped his foot down hard on the floor. Then he stared at the faint silver line that the shifting dust revealed in the floor. Hastily, he stooped down and traced the metal outline of a rectangular access panel, with a ring flattened into the floor at one side. Bodie's fingers pried the ring up from the floor and a sharp tug released the panel. Placing it on the floor beside him, Bodie bent over and carefully lowered his head through the two by three foot opening. He saw the road speeding by beneath the bus, then directed his attention to the undercarriage of the bus, looking towards the rear. He easily spotted the black box located three feet behind him. It had a lit up display with 53 clearly visible and - Bloody hell! There's enough C4 to blow this bus to Kingdom come and back! And there's no way I can reach it. Even if I was a gorilla, my arms wouldn't stretch that far...
Mulling over the discovery, Bodie carefully replaced the access panel and rose to his feet. He took the two steps necessary to reach Doyle's cubicle and they exchanged glances in the mirror. "So you found it," Doyle said quietly.
"Yeah, mate. You just keep driving fast, because there's no way in hell that I can disarm it, let alone reach it while we're still moving."
"So what's the next step?"
"I'm gonna talk to my guv'nor. In private." Bodie stepped towards the center aisle and turned left, climbing the stairway to the upper deck and privacy. He sat in the first seat he saw and pulled out his R/T. To lessen the wind's impact, he turned sideways in the seat and bent his head. "T-one to Alpha, come in, please."
"Alpha here, T-one. What's your situation?"
"I found the bomb, sir. And it cannot be disarmed while the bus is in motion." Bodie reported crisply.
"Describe it to me. Where is it located?"
"It's attached to the underside of the bus, about three feet beyond the access panel. The access panel is at the head of the center aisle, about a foot away from the bus' front end. The bomb is rectangular in shape, with a digital display that read 53 - the bus' speed at the time - and several different coloured wires connecting it to a fair-sized wad of C4. Sir." Bodie thought he heard the Major curse under his breath for a moment.
"How likely is the possibility the bomb could be remotely triggered, in your opinion?"
"Very likely, sir. But he'd have to be relatively close to do it, sir."
"Agreed. He'd have to have the bus under surveillance from somewhere."
"Like a pursuing car, sir?"
"Yes, which is why we're keeping obbo on any cars that have been following you on the M4, and discretely checking the license plates. Nothing out of the ordinary, so far."
"What about aerial surveillance, sir?"
"We haven't seen any sign of that. We've got the press under a D-notice, which has been successful so far."
"We have another potential problem, sir. Petrol. We have barely over half a tank now, sir."
"That's more than enough to get you to where you're going."
"You have a destination for us, sir?"
"Aye, but I haven't worked out what to do with you when you get there."
"Where are we going, sir?"
"RAF Winchcombe. It's an abandoned air force base from the Second World War. It's near Malmesbury, off the A429. The A429 intersects the M4 at Wootton Bassett, about twelve miles past Swindon."
"Why are we heading for an old air force base?"
"It has restricted access and restricted airspace, so even if the IRA is keeping an eye on the bus by chopper, it canna follow you there."
"And once we reach Winchcombe?"
"Aye, there's the rub. You're a military man, Bodie. How would you evacuate forty people from a moving bus, quickly and safely?"
"I'd rule out a chopper, sir. Takes too much time, and we have women and children to deal with. By the way, how is the bus driver, sir?"
"Wesley reports that the driver's resting comfortably in the cardiac care ward at Bart's. He's very grateful to you and the doctors."
"Good. I'll pass that on to the doctors, they'll be glad to hear it." Bodie got back to the original question, thinking aloud. "We'll need something big enough to hold forty people. In a military op, I'd send everyone up to the roof and have them jump into an open Army transport truck, but that won't work, here."
"Could it, in a pinch? If there was no other way to unload these passengers?"
"We could line the bottom of the truck with mattresses, but - it isn't easy jumping off a 45 mile per hour bus into the back of an Army truck. There'd be injuries, certainly; possibly even fatalities." Bodie lifted his head slightly, staring backwards, past the empty rows of seats, and the rear escort of pandas to the receding M4, leading back to London. "Of course! It's been staring me in the face, sir. We can transfer the Yanks to another bus!"
"Aye, laddie! That we could."
"This bus only has one exit - behind the driver's box, on the right side. The left exit was blocked off when TET remodelled the bus for tourism. So we'll need a bus with an entrance on the left side, and some sort of temporary walkway between the two buses."
"Done, laddie! I'll find your second bus and get it to Winchcombe p.d.q.. You keep going on the M4 until you reach the A429 exchange."
"Sir, what if the bomber figures out what we're up to, and has a remote trigger?"
"Hmm, we'll send the bus from Swindon, or Gloucester, if necessary, so he won't see it. And, as you get closer to Winchcombe, I'll have the panda cars behind you slow down and line up across the lanes, forming a rolling roadblock, as the Americans say. That will prevent any trailing car from getting close enough to the bus to trigger the bomb. And remember, I'm still negotiating with our bomber, laddie. I'll arrange it so that the money pickup roughly coincides with your arrival at Winchcombe. He'll be too busy thinking about the money to do anything about the bomb."
"Unless he has an accomplice, or several, sir." Bodie pointed out.
"The possibility exists, but the alternative is to do nothing, and that is unacceptable. I'll contact you when we have everything ready. Alpha Charlie, out."
"T-one out, sir." Bodie slipped his R/T into his jacket pocket and rose. He looked behind him, spotting the rear escort of police vehicles and other cars and trucks, behind the pandas. Were any of them tailing the bus? He'd been way too busy dealing with matters inside the bus to even think about it before. I'll check with Doyle, see if he's spotted any potential tails, Bodie thought as he took the stairs down to the lower level.
He turned left from the stairway, and approached the driver's compartment. He paused to inspect the bus door, located behind the driver's seat. It had a folding door that could be opened by the driver flipping a switch located to his left. The door actually sat on top of the front tyres, about four feet off the ground. He was confident that George Cowley would get the bus's specifications down to a T, and find an exact match as the transfer bus.
"Have a nice chat with your guv'nor, Bodie?" Doyle asked.
"No one has a 'nice chat' with George Cowley, mate. We had a meaningful exchange of information, and we now have a destination - RAF Winchcombe."
"And where the devil is that?"
"It's on the A429, close to Malmesbury. About an hour's drive from here."
"And what happens at Winchcombe?"
"We're offloading the passengers onto another bus, while maintaining our speed, of course."
"Sounds fun. Do the Yanks know?"
"Not yet, I'm about to inform them. By the way, have you noticed any cars following us?"
"You mean aside from the pandas? No, not particularly."
"Good. Carry on." Bodie turned and walked over to the center of the bus, then picked up the microphone. "Ladies and gentlemen, your attention, please." He waited a few seconds, then continued. "First, I want to thank you for your extraordinary patience and calmness in dealing with this situation. I'm asking you to please be patient for a little while longer. I have verified that there is, in fact a bomb under the bus," a concerned murmuring broke out, "But we are in no danger, as long as we maintain our present velocity, which is well above forty miles an hour. We are heading for an old air force base, outside of Malmesbury. It's about an hour away from us, and once we get there, you will disembark safely from this bus. I've also learned that the bus driver is safely ensconced in hospital and is recovering from his heart attack. I'll give you more information when we're closer to our destination. Again, thank you for your patience." He lowered the microphone and glanced idly at his watch, then inspiration struck and he raised the mike again. "As it is approaching the noon hour, I'd like to invite everyone to lunch. TET has provided the makings of a picnic, which will be distributed as soon as I have some volunteers to help with the serving." Ellen Barker immediately raised her hand and the two seventeen year old girls in the third seat did also. "Thank you, ladies," Bodie smiled, "We should be serving lunch shortly."
Bodie hung up the microphone, then walked down the aisle to Ellen's seat. She rose and followed him to the back of the bus, the girls tagging along. In ten minutes, Bodie and his volunteer staff had the food distributed, and everyone was busily munching on sandwiches, crisps and soft drinks. Bodie returned to the tour guide's seat, at the front of the bus and wolfed down two roast beef sandwiches, a bag of crisps and a can of Coke. Then he walked over to Ray Doyle, stuck behind the wheel while everyone else enjoyed lunch. "I'll make it up to you, mate," Bodie offered impulsively, "How about dinner at my local, the Hoof and Claw, Saturday night? Drinks included, of course."
"You're on, Bodie."
********
With all the passengers preoccupied with lunch, the next forty-five minutes passed fairly rapidly. Just before reaching the interchange with the A429, Bodie went to the upper deck to retrieve the pipe and rope he'd placed under those seats earlier, and to have a final private conversation with Cowley. Bodie placed the length of pipe and the coiled rope on the seat in front of him, then sat down and extracted his R/T. "T-one to Alpha. Come in, please."
"Alpha here, T-one. What's your location?"
"We're just east of Wootton Bassett, sir. Is everything ready on your end?"
"Yes, we're all set, just awaiting your arrival."
"Sir, we should be there shortly. I still have the lead pipe and the rope." Sounds like a blood Clue game-no, wait, that's two weapons, no suspects or rooms. He almost missed Cowley's next words, then shook his head, disbelievingly. He toyed with the idea of asking for clarification, but he could just hear the Major's response to that, "You heard me perfectly well, laddie. Just get on with it."
"Alpha out." Cowley's voice came clearly through the R/T.
"T-one out, sir." Bodie replied by rote, then put his R/T away. He stood up and walked to the back of the bus, focusing on the panda cars. He both saw and felt the bus turn north onto the A429 road and the trailing police escort did, too. Then the lead police car slowed down somewhat as the other two changed lanes and caught up with the lead car, establishing a rolling roadblock. Bodie tensed, intently watching the increasingly distant cars, vans and lorries behind the police cars. If the bomber was in any of those vehicles and realised that he was being cut off, this was his last chance to detonate the bomb by remote control. Nothing happened. Bodie walked back up the aisle, picked up the rope and pipe and strode down to the lower level. He stashed the two items under the guide's seat and took up station behind Doyle.
"We're almost there, mate. Should be a sign any minute. I talked to my guv'nor and the other bus is already at the base, waiting."
"There's our sign," Doyle pointed to a weatherbeaten road sign, RAF Winchcombe, 3/4 mile.
Bodie stepped to his left, reaching one more time for the mike. "All right, folks, we're almost at our destination. When we get to the base, another bus is going to pull up along our right side. It will be pacing our bus, and you'll be assisted to the other bus. We're going to disembark in an orderly fashion, starting with the back row. Everyone please remain in your seats until I tell you otherwise. Thank you." He replaced the microphone, then returned to stand next to the driver's compartment, in front of the bus's closed door. Bodie watched as Doyle turned left down the entrance to the abandoned base, and seconds later, drove through the base's opened gate. Bodie's R/T crackled into life. "Two-nine calling T-one, come in."
Bodie had his R/T filipped open in no time. "T-one here."
"Turn to your right once you reach the end of the main path, it's the longest runway. We'll be joinin you ASAP."
"Acknowledged, T-one out." Bodie put away his R/T. "You heard the man, turn right onto the runway."
Doyle nodded, continuing to drive the bus down the base's main road. They passed a few unmarked CI5 cars, three ambulances and four fire trucks.
The bus isn't all that Cowley smuggled in from Swindon, or Gloucester. Bodie thought as Doyle turned right onto the runway. Immediately, another bus approached them from the right side, steadily creeping level with their bus. Then it pulled slightly ahead, and maneuvered as close as it could, bringing its left rear entrance even with the door to Bodie's right. Doyle flipped a switch and the folding doors opened. Bodie looked out of the open door across about a four feet of space and straight at CI5 agents Durrand and Miles. They extended a five foot long wooden board to Bodie and he grabbed it, placing it flat on the floor and stepping on the right edge of the board to hold it steady, as the other CI5 men did on their bus.
"Last row, please approach the front of the bus, now." Bodie heard an accented voice over the speaker and glanced backward. Peter Barker stood next to the microphone, waiting as the couple from the last row, which only had one side of seats, approached. The man and woman passed the stairs and Barker, then turned right and stopped by Bodie. "Next row, please," Barker said over the speaker.
Bodie held out his left hand to the woman. "Take my hand," he instructed and the middle-aged lady reached for it, then stepped forward and onto the board, following Bodie's gentle tugging. A big step and Durrand's and Miles's outstretched hands grasped her from the other bus, another large step and she was on the other bus. Her husband followed quickly, also reaching the safety of the other bus. The procedure established, the rest of the bus slowly filed up to the front of the bus. Bodie handed over ten more passengers, then took a break as the buses reached the end of the runway and had to turn around. They turned in tandem, a tricky feat in itself, then Bodie started passing more passengers over.
The next group of tourists was a family of four: mom, dad, and a boy and girl, both under ten years old. Bodie nodded at the woman, "I'll take you first, Mrs. -"
"Storgan, and this is Karen and Randy," she introduced the children.
Bodie stooped to kids' eye level. "Hello, Karen, Randy. Your mother's going to walk over to that other bus and then you'll join her. Now, watch what she does, and then you're going to do the same, like Simon Says." He reached for Mrs. Storgan's hand and she stepped confidently onto the board, then into the space between the two buses. She caught Durrand's and Miles's hands on the other bus and was quickly pulled inside. Then she turned to watch worriedly as Bodie carefully took Karen's hand and gently urged her out onto the board. Bodie leaned out of the bus, extending his hand as far as possible, guiding the little girl along the plank. Meanwhile, Miles had anchored himself by grabbing the handhold on the outside of the bus, his other hand firmly gripping Durrand's belt. Durrand stepped out onto the plank and stretched his hand so that it was only inches away from Bodie's hand. Between them, he and Bodie almost formed a human bridge across the gap, and Karen, although scared and shaky, managed to cross from Bodie's hand to Durrand's. "That's it, Karen!" Mrs. Storgan encouraged as her pig-tailed daughter, clinging tightly to Durrand, finished walking across the board. As soon as she was on the other bus, Mrs. Storgan hugged her daughter close and they both watched as Randy followed his big sister's footsteps and crossed safely as well.
Durrand stepped back into the bus and the CI5 men resumed their normal method of ferrying the adults across the gap. Mr. Storgan crossed as quickly as he could, in two giant strides he was on the other bus, with his hands wrapped around his wife and children.
After the twelfth person was aided across the gap, the buses came to the opposite end of the runway and swung around it in tandem, in a wide curve, then straightened out, heading the opposite direction. Bodie, Durrand and Miles resumed ferrying the remaining group of tourists between the buses. Finally it was down to the last four passengers, the two teenage girls and the Barkers. Bodie handed the first girl over without incident, then turned to the remaining teenager, who had watched, wide-eyed, as her friend stepped across the board bridge.
"I-I c-c-can't do th-that," she stuttered, one hand nervously twisting her shoulder-length brown hair.
Ellen Barker stepped next to her, and put an arm around the girl. "What's your name, honey?"
"Tina."
"Well, Tina, you trust Mr. Bodie, don't you?"
"Yes."
"Good, because he'll make sure nothing happens to you. Just take his hand, and do what he tells you."
Bodie held out his hand, smiling and Tina took it, squeezing hard. "Okay, Tina, jus take a big step onto the bridge and hold out your left hand for Miles to grab from the other bus. Once he has you, let go of me, take one more step and you're home free. You got that?"
Tina nodded and stepped so that she stood at the open doorway, even with Bodie. Breathing deeply, she took a big step onto the board and shakily extended her left hand. Miles leaned out of the other bus and grabbed her hand firmly. Tina reluctantly released Bodie's hand. "C'mon, Tina, you're doing fine," he encouraged as Durrand gently pulled, and she took the last giant step to the other bus.
Bodie turned his attention to Ellen and gallantly offered his hand. "Next."
She took it, smiling. "You know, Mr. Bodie, you really are very, very good at your job."
"And you're a very, very nice lady," he said, carefully handing her onto the plank, and over to Durrand on the rescue bus.
Then it was Peter's turn. "Thanks for your help," Bodie said as he guided Barker across the gap.
"How're you getting off?" Peter asked.
"Don't worry, Doyle and I have another exit planned." Peter reached the safety of the other bus and watched as Durrand and Bodie stepped back from the board and picked it up. Bodie let go of his end of the plank and Durrand pulled it back on the second bus, which then curved rightwards, away from Bodie's bus.
"Now what?" Doyle asked from his position behind the wheel.
"True confessions, mate." Bodie strode over to the guide's seat on the left side of the bus and extracted the rope and lead pipe. He returned to Doyle, carrying them. "There's a second access panel along the center aisle, by the third and fourth row of seats, and it's even longer than the one up front. I didn't see it."
"So how'd you find out about it?"
"Cowley told me, after he got the specs for this bus from TET."
"So Joe Bodie, ace CI5 man, couldn't see what was under his feet all along?"
"Actually, it's William Bodie - William Andrew Philip."
"But you prefer just Bodie."
Bodie grinned. "Yeah, wouldn't you?" Bodie turned his attention to the runway ahead of them. "Do you see that utility shed, at the end of that runway, to our left?" Doyle nodded. "Head the bus for it."
"Why? What's the plan?" Doyle asked as he steered the bus to the left, onto the indicated cross-runway.
"Just a tick," Bodie dropped the lead pipe and handed Doyle one end of the rope. "Tie this loosely around the steering wheel," he instructed. He waited until Doyle had hold of the rope, then turned and strode down the aisle to the third row of seats. He dropped to the floor and located the larger access panel. He pried up its ring handle and slipped his end of the rope through it, tying it tightly. Then he pulled up the five foot long panel, and turned it slightly sideways, and the bottom half of it fell through the opening. Bodie realigned the panel so that it was slanted but upright, forming a ramp that almost touched the speeding ground. It was held into place and delicately balanced at the midpoints of its longer sides, where the panel came into contact with its frame on the bus floor.
Bodie jumped up and strode quickly back to Doyle, picking up the lead pipe when he reached the driver's box. "End of the line, mate. Here, I'm going to brace the petrol pedal with this pipe while you get out from behind the wheel." Bodie stepped over to the right side of the box and stooped, gradually nudging Doyle's foot off the pedal and replacing it with one end of the lead pipe, which he crammed against the driver's seat as Doyle slid out of it.
Bodie stood up, and steadied the wheel from behind the empty driver's seat, keeping the bus on target for the shed. "Get back there. We're going to use the panel like a sled and slide underneath the bus."
"Are you crazy? You're going to let a double decker bus roll right over us?"
"My guv'nor said the clearance is high enough that we'll be able to just slide underneath it, free and clear."
"And do you trust your guv'nor?" Doyle challenged.
"Cowley's never lied to me, in all the time I've worked for him."
Doyle's sharp eyes searched Bodie's face for a moment, then he turned and walked rapidly back to the waiting ramp. He crouched down and grabbed the frame of the third row of seats and gingerly stepped onto the tilting access panel, slowly lowering his legs so that he was lying sideways on top of the left half of the sloped panel, supporting his most of his weight by his hands. "C'mon, Bodie!"
Bodie took a last look at the shed, directly in front of them and released the wheel. He strode down the aisle and slid quickly onto the right side of the panel. "I've known Cowley for three and a half months!" Bodie said as one hand grabbed Doyle's shoulder and Doyle let go of the seat support to grab Bodie's shoulder instead. Bodie's other hand grabbed the rope and yanked on it, hard.
The overloaded access panel fell through the opening and forcefully hit the ground. Momentum imparted to it from the speeding bus propelled the panel and its clinging occupants backwards at the same time the bus rolled forward and harmlessly passed over them. The panel continued to slide down the runway, miraculously staying upright. The empty bus also maintained its course, directly for the storage shed. It hit the shed dead-on.
BOOM! A spectacular cloud of flames and smoke rose into the gray skies, causing gasps of amazement from the tourists, fireman and security people, safely watching from a distance.
Bodie also saw the explosion, but he was too busy keeping upright and on the panel to pay it much attention.. He was trying to remember his physics, and convince himself that friction from the panel's contact with the ground should slow down their makeshift sled and eventually bring it to a halt. Velocity equals distance over time, and friction equals mass times acceleration, no that's gravity. The hell with this, when're we going to stop? How long is the runway, anyway? Bodie thought he heard Doyle muttering under his breath. Praying? He wasn't going to ask. Instead he concentrated on the scenery flying past over Doyle's shoulder, and noted that it really did seem to be slowing down.
Several seconds later, both he and Doyle knew without a doubt that their sled was running out of steam and slowing down considerably. It hit a large crack in the pavement and bounced, sending Bodie and Doyle careening off the panel. Bodie instinctively brought his hands up to protect his face and rolled. Twenty feet later, he came to a dazed halt. Taking a deep breath, he fought to get his bearings and opened his eyes. The sky. He was looking up into England's typically cloudy grey skies. He heard sirens wailing in the distance and automatically separated them into fire, ambulance and police. The ambulance and police sirens were coming closer... "Doyle!" Where is he? He was right next to me until- until we fell off that thing. Bodie pushed himself up to a sitting position and looked around.
Relieved, he spotted Doyle, similarly sitting on the ground, about six yards to his right. Rising, Bodie walked over to Doyle, noting that almost every step caused a muscle to protest somewhere, but he had no sharp or lasting pains. "Ray, are you all right?"
Doyle was examining his left arm, which sported a large scrape from the elbow on down, bleeding slightly. "Yeah, just scrapes and bruises. How about you?"
"Nothing a good massage and some liniment won't fix," Bodie answered, then fell silent as a red Cortina approached, followed by an ambulance.
The passenger door to the Cortina opened and a middle-aged Scotsman with wispy hair and a slight limp emerged. Walking towards the two, he asked, "Bodie! Are you all right, lad?"
"Yes, sir. A few scrapes and bruises." Bodie straightened visibly. "Sir, this is Ray Doyle, the driver. Doyle, this is Mr. George Cowley, Controller of CI5."
Doyle extended his right hand. "Pleased to meet you, sir."
"Likewise, Mr. Doyle," Cowley shook Doyle's hand, then looked at his left arm. "Your bleeding, man. Get over to that ambulance and have that arm looked after."
"Sir, it's nothing, really."
Cowley was already motioning for the paramedic, who quickly stepped over to Doyle. "Check him out," Cowley directed, then turned to Bodie. "What about you? Any fresh blood I should know about?"
"No, sir."
"Good. Five-three just radioed me that they picked up the bomber at the ransom rendezvous. It's Carr Liam Quinn."
"Quinn! That bastard, I'll--"
"I thought you'd want to be in on the interrogation," Cowley interrupted smoothly. "Durrand and Miles can handle the clean up here. Come along, Bodie, we're going back to London." George Cowley took two steps towards the car and stopped when he realised his subordinate was not following. "Bodie."
"Running all the way, sir," Bodie said, hurriedly. He turned quickly to Doyle. "Don't forget, I owe you dinner Saturday. At the Hoof and Claw." Then he strode rapidly over to his impatiently waiting superior. Bodie opened the Cortina's door for Cowley, and shut it after he got in, then opened the rear door and climbed in behind him. The red Cortina smoothly came to life and rapidly disappeared towards the gate of RAF Winchcombe.
********
William Andrew Philip Bodie paused outside the Controller's office the next afternoon. After interrogating Quinn for most of the night, he'd taken a few hours off to rest and regroup. He had discarded his camouflage jacket and black pants in favor of a pale beige trousers and a navy blazer worn over a crisp white shirt.
"Enter."
Bodie walked into Cowley's office and stopped in front of the desk. "You sent for me, sir?" He asked his boss, seated at the desk. Then his peripheral vision took in the other occupant of the room, Ray Doyle. "Doyle?" He started, then faced Cowley again, anger in his eyes. "Tidying up loose ends, sir? I don't care what you've got on Doyle, the man saved my bacon, yesterday! And the lives of everyone else on that bus! For crying out loud, sir, he's a hero! He doesn't deserve to be hounded or harassed about a bit of form!"
"Sit down, T-one!" Cowley ordered, when he could get a word in edgewise.
Bodie turned to Doyle, "C'mon, mate, we're leaving."
"T-one, sit down," George Cowley raised his voice. "That was not a request, Bodie."
Bodie glanced sullenly at his guv'nor, then sat in Cowley's second visitor's chair. "Do you remember what I told you yesterday, about anticipating me?"
"Yes, sir." Bodie said, tight-lipped.
"Well, you're doing it again. I didn't bring Doyle down here because he has a bit of form, quite the opposite in fact."
"Sir?"
"I've discovered the reason Doyle's not listed as an enrolled art student - and it's not what you think. Ooch, you tell him, Doyle."
"Being an art student was my cover, Bodie. I'm really Detective Constable Raymond Doyle, of Scotland Yard."
Bodie whirled around to look at Doyle. "A copper? You're a copper? But I hate-" wisely, he cut himself off.
"You see, Bodie, I asked Doyle to come and talk with me about applying for a position in CI5, once I knew who he really was. Your report indicated that he was capable of fast thinking and decisive action in an emergency situation. These are valuable assets for a CI5 agent. As it happens, Doyle is considering a change in position. I'll look over your application and start the wheels in motion, Doyle. Thank you for coming down here and talking with me. Bodie, you're dismissed, too."
Bodie and Doyle rose to their feet and exited Cowley's office.
"Don't forget you owe me dinner," he heard Doyle say as the Yardman followed Bodie out the door.
George Cowley picked up the report he was reading earlier that morning. It was Bodie's detailed analysis of the bomb incident, accompanied by reports from Durrand, Miles, and Biggs. Each clearly indicated that Bodie had passed through a difficult situation with flying colours. It's time, Cowley decided and reached into his desk drawer to pull out a small carved box. He lifted the lid, revealing two equal inner compartments stacked with unequal amounts of small ivory tiles. Cowley picked up the larger stack of tiles and placed them face down on his desk. Idly he swirled the dominoes around spreading them evenly on his desk, then mixing them up again. He remembered the first time he met Bodie, when the lad was a soon-to-be discharged sergeant in the SAS, and his subsequent conversations with the young agent in training. Then he reached for a domino and flipped it over. Three-seven. George Cowley quickly gathered up the remaining dominoes and put them back in the box, lastly placing the three-seven domino in the other side of the box with the smaller pile of dominoes. He reached for Bodie's report and a stylo and marked through the T-one, penning in 3.7. "Congratulations, Bodie, you're a full-fledged CI5 agent."
********
The hotel clerk took the departing customer's credit card and ran it through. "And did you enjoy your stay in London, Mrs. Payne?" she asked the smartly dressed woman in her late thirties.
""Yes, we had a lovely time, but we're looking forward to being back in Atlanta. There's no place like home, is there, dear?"
"That's right, Sara," her husband said, picking up the Daily Mirror for something to read on the way to Heathrow Airport. The front page pictured a double decker bus and its headline screamed BOMB ON BUS! "Only in England," Howard Payne muttered, then joined his wife by the taxi stand.
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