Not a Congo Line
Banner by Agent Xpndble for summer_of_78
Written for the summer_of_78 livejournal fic exchange.
"Good morning, golly!" Bodie threw himself into the passenger seat and cheerfully rubbing Doyle on the belly.
"Will you stop that!" Doyle growled, peeling out quickly so that Bodie was tossed haphazardly around the passenger side of the Capri.
"Oi!" Bodie flailed about a bit as he got settled. He managed to grab a quick feel in the mayhem. Everything was in order and now growing nicely. He loved teasing Doyle. It was so easy.
"Oi nothing, and keep those big mitts to yerself..."
"Can't help myself." Bodie chuckled. "So what could be on that warrants this sort of emergency call out? MI5 missing the shop cat?"
Doyle cackled and elbowed him. "Nah... More like a Whitehall mole."
Bodie snickered uncharitably and settled back in his seat. It was early enough that traffic was light and by the time they got to the bridge the area had been cordoned off. Every time their credentials were checked along the secured area, Bodie made sure to lean out the window across Doyle, brushing as much of him as possible. After the third check, Doyle was red faced and straining.
"Stop doing that." he growled, shoving Bodie back into the seat.
"Doing what?" Bodie's face was a picture of innocence.
Doyle grumbled to himself and guided the car down Richmond Street. They spotted Cowley among the debris and haphazardly mingling CID. Bodie chuckled and wrapped his hand around Doyle's thigh, squeezing gently. "Shouldn't let Father get an eyeful of that... "He cackled evilly and bolted from the car as Doyle's fist went for his head.
"Bodie! Doyle!" Cowley snapped, his expression clearly not that of someone in the mood for levity.
Bodie sobered up instantly and snapped to attention at his side. Doyle trotted over quickly, still glaring at Bodie. Cowley ignored whatever little game he thought they were playing and pointed to the open body bag lying close behind them.
"James Martin Weatherby, shot in the attempted kidnapping of the Undersecretary in charge of Gabon Cultural Relations."
Bodie squatted down and peered at the blood covered body. It was indeed Jimmy.
"Attempted, Sir?" Doyle stared down, eyes flitting between Bodie and the dead man.
"Attempted, yes. Your fellows in the Met stopped them, shooting this one in the process. The Undersecretary has been taken to hospital and is under guard. This wasn't a ham handed operation. It was planned to the letter." Cowley gave Bodie a telling look. "I think Bodie might know something about this one."
Bodie stood and cleared his throat. "Yes, Sir. Jimmy here was part of Red Killian's squad. I thought he was dead, Sir."
"Yeah... Well he is now." His eyes twinkled in amusement and he grinned.
Doyle groaned. "Bodie... Why were they going to snatch the Undersecretary, Sir?"
"Read this, then get started." He handed Doyle the working folio.
Doyle read aloud from the file, pacing back and forth. Bodie was sprawled expansively on the sofa, eyes closed and slack jawed.
"Are you asleep or what?"
"What?" Bodie blinked his eyes open.
"I thought as much. Look. You knew that guy. Why would he be snatching someone?"
"Because someone paid him to."
"Sorry ... Let me think. I never was in Gabon. Filled with frogs."
"The hopping sort or the French?"
"What do you think? Who's the fella they were trying to snatch? I didn't catch his name."
"Georges Louis M'Ba."
Bodie's eyes grew wide. He knew of a Georges M'Ba and nothing good was associated with that name. "Please don't tell me he's from Malinga."
"Thought you didn't know Gabon..." Doyle thumbed through the papers looking for the M'Ba's personal history.
"The Congolese think Malinga belongs to them. Look, this isn't good Doyle... Not good at all."
"Worse. Personal... Let me ask around. I think I may know who's behind this. If it's not them, then we only have to worry about the political crackpots... and they don't scare me as much as mad black Africans with personal vendettas."
"Ah!" Doyle paused for the shock effect. "Bad news Bodie..."
"He's from Malinga."
Doyle grinned evilly and nodded.
"Brilliant. Well, interested in a trek to the underbelly of society?"
"Anything to finally meet a few of your old... friends."
Bodie pulled a very annoyed face. "Just don't mention the drugs squad... I don't want them bored to death before I get answers."
The snooker hall was smoky, dark and decrepit. Bodie rubbed at his nose and peered through the gloom. He spotted the people he was looking for and motioned for Doyle to follow.
"The tall one is Magruder. The short one with the red hair is Max. Double act. They used to work with Jimmy."
"Work with how, precisely?"
"How'd you think Doyle..." Bodie snorted. Always with the stupid questions. Bodie stood on the far side of the table and waited for one of the boys to notice him. It didn't take long. Magruder lifted a red rimmed eye.
"Bodie? What the hell are you doing here?" His voice sounded as tired as he looked.
"Magruder. How you been?"
"What do you want?"
"Seen Jimmy around?"
"No, he's on a job."
"Don't piss me about, Magruder. My friend here has no patience and I don't want him to start breaking things. The landlord might not let you back in."
Magruder hit a ball and stood. "He don't look like he's much good at breaking up anything."
"Don't let that angelic visage fool you."
Doyle smiled evilly. Bodie smiled beautifully. Magruder looked between them and sighed.
"Some new firm. Jimmy needed the dosh to pay off someone, and these people offered plenty. Blacks. They sounded French but I couldn't be sure. Go down the docks. You know where."
Bodie did know where. "Ta. He's dead you know."
"Jimmy?" Max finally piped up. A little grin tugged at the corners of his mouth.
Doyle's brow went up.
"Guess that means you don't owe him now either." Bodie patted him on the shoulder and herded Doyle towards the door before the inevitable questions popped out. He managed to hustle Doyle halfway down the steps this time.
"Either? Either? What did you owe this guy, Bodie?"
Bodie sighed. "Not here."
There was a tense silence in the car as they sped towards the St. Katherine Docks. Doyle sat, arms crossed, glaring at his partner. Bodie stared straight ahead, nervously fiddling with the gearshift.
"Oh for Christ's sakes Bodie!" Doyle finally broke down and shouted, slamming his hand on the dash.
"Ok ok...." Bodie swallowed. "Jimmy got me, Magruder, Max and another bloke out of a... sticky situation."
"Somehow I get the impression there's more to it than that."
"A bit. And it has to do with M'Ba and all..."
Doyle exhaled loudly and rolled his eyes. "Are you telling Cowley or am I?"
"We are... but I want to tell you the whole thing first. Because we can't tell the old man the whole story. I'd be my arse."
"Ray, I'm serious. Jimmy pulled us out of a brothel. A brothel run by our mate Monsieur M'Ba."
Doyle's brow went up. "Why is that such a problem?"
Bodie cleared his throat and nervously twiddled the gear shift again. "Because there weren't any women there."
"Jimmy found out about the raid and collected us just in time. He never said a thing but his hand would get held out at payday and he'd get out of duty he didn't want to pull. It didn't matter so much to me when I got out of the mercs, but Max and Magruder... Well everyone knowing is one thing, being publicly branded is another."
"And you say M'Ba ran this place?"
"Yeah. And he knows my face."
"Is that all he knows?"
"Well as you ask..." Bodie winked.
Doyle's eyes narrowed. They shone a murky green and his expression became dangerously stormy. Bodie's grin faded at the sight of it.
"Well he let it be known he'd have said yes but I didn't take him up on it." The words tumbled out quickly.
Doyle grabbed the RT, still glaring at Bodie. "4.5 to Alpha 1."
They carefully picked their way through the crates and ropes towards a ship named 'Victor Martin'. Bodie whistled sharply when they got close.
"Wait here. They'll come out."
Doyle remained silent and still as a small contingent of well armed black men appeared from nowhere. Bodie grinned and raised his hand in a complex signal. The men lowered their weapons and faded away.
"Bonjour petit. How lovely to see you again."
The voice rang out from above their heads. Bodie looked up and grinned. A bulky, shaven headed man in fatigues waved down at them.
"Who's that?" Doyle demanded.
"Shhhh... It's Kemp. He's an old friend." He looked up and shouted. "Ahoy you froggy bugger! I need to ask you something."
"How 'old'?" Doyle hissed. Bodie elbowed him silent.
Kemp easily scrambled down the piled cargo boxes. He leapt off the pile and landed in front of Bodie with a huff of exhaled air. He straightened himself up brushing off his fatigues and grinned smugly at Bodie. They both stared in silence until Kemp's eyebrows wiggled and they both dissolved into giggles.
Doyle stared at them in disbelief.
"You dirty poof, how have you been!" Kemp grabbed Bodie in a bear hug.
"Good, good! I see life's been agreeing with you..." Bodie woggled Kemp's belly which was starting to pull against his flak jacket buttons.
"No more than you, mon cher." Kemp rubbed Bodie's somewhat soft middle before giving him a quick smack on the bottom. "So who is your partner? He looks quick."
"This is Ray Doyle. Crack shot and brains of the operation. Don't you mess him about, he doesn't fancy it."
Kemp's eyebrow went up. "Quel dommage..."
Bodie laughed and elbowed him. Kemp smacked him away and held his hand out for Doyle. "A pleasure monsieur."
Doyle took his hand and shook it firmly. "Likewise."
Kemp smiled at him and patted him on the shoulder. "Keep an eye to this one Doyle. He is lovely but ..." He made a swirling motion by his ear with his finger. "And he is also easy to read. A visit here means it is business. So tell me how I can help."
"Someone's tried to snatch our old friend M'Ba. Jimmy Weatherby was killed in the raid and we don't have clue one as to what's going on."
"Ah. Last I heard Jimmy had taken up with an anti-government group. They want M'Ba for his distant relationship to the ex-prime minister, not for any other... information... he might have."
"You don't happen to have an idea where this group might be operating here, do you?" Doyle asked.
"I have a few ideas, yes." Kemp grinned.
Bodie snuggled in against Doyle's back and squinted over his shoulder at the door of the house across the street. They'd narrowed down the four possibles Kemp had given them to this one, a townhouse in Notting Hill.
Doyle's eyes didn't shift from his field glasses.
"Are you just going to sulk?"
Doyle remained silent.
"Ray...." He whispered gently into Doyle's ear. "Come on Ray... was a long time ago..."
Doyle ignored him.
"Ray... I was young and randy..." He rubbed his hands over Doyle's thighs. "Come on... I can make it up to you." He brushed his lips along Doyle's cheek and his hand over his zip. He ran a finger under the flap and pressed down. There was firm resistance. He slid his finger up to try for the button.
"What do you think you're doing?" Doyle finally lowered the field glasses.
"Working out some stiffness that's been bothering you all morning." He popped the button on Doyle's jeans.
Doyle harrumphed but it sounded a bit too much like a moan. Bodie quickly got him undone and in hand.
"All this for me..." He moaned into Doyle's ear.
"Bastard..." Doyle pressed back against him, sighing. He was hot for it and it was indeed all Bodie's fault.
"Wish I was on my knees... sucking you. You taste too good to waste." He stroked Doyle firmly, thumb and forefinger teasing under his foreskin at every pull. "Shame I have to keep watch with you... Rather feel you hit the back of my throat."
Doyle sighed and started thrusting his hips into Bodie's grip. "Only way I can keep you quiet..."
"Big gob for a big cock, eh Ray? Mmmm, look how nice you are, all rosy and hot. Your balls tingling yet?" He shifted his other hand to gently squeeze them through Doyle's jeans.
"Ohh you are randy... Not enough last night? You'll wear a fella down with your demands." He could feel Doyle begin to tremble and worked him harder.
When the field glasses landed with a thump on the windowsill, Bodie kept his eyes glued to the front door. He knew Doyle wasn't looking anymore. "Show me how good I'm doing, love."
Doyle clutched at Bodie's arms, hips moving to their own desperate rhythm. He writhed silently as Bodie worked him to the peak of his pleasure.
"Ahhh, that's my messy Ray..." Bodie purred as Doyle came all over the windowsill and curtains.
Doyle let out a soft sigh, finally collapsing against Bodie's chest. "I'll do you for that, you rotten bugger..."
"Mmm... promises, promises," he chuckled.
Bodie squinted at the door through his night scope.
"Still bloody nothing. How long is the old man going to keep us sitting here?" He moaned.
"For as long as he wants. Should be used to this, Bodie. Hurry up and wait, isn't it?"
Bodie snorted inelegantly. "That's why I left the service. Oi, wait, someone's going in."
Doyle bounced off the bed and peered out as Bodie snapped off pictures. Two well dressed black men were ushered in the front door.
"Did you get faces?" Doyle snatched the scope from Bodie's hand and put it to his eye.
"Yes. And one of them was a DGSE lad."
"Oh wonderful, now the French Secret Service is involved. Cowley's not going to like this."
"I'm not sure I like this. Best call father and have him send a runner for this film."
Cowley threw the photos on his desk in irritation. Doyle scooped them up and examined them carefully.
"You were right, Bodie. I got a request from the Direction Generale de la Securite Exterieure this morning. They asked me to step away from their investigation."
"Are we Sir?"
"Are we what, Bodie!" Cowley shouted, his irritation getting the better of him.
"Are we stepping aside?" Doyle tossed the photos back down.
"Yes. I have the whole of their dossier on the operation here." Cowley's eyes glinted evilly as he dropped the folder on his desk.
"I see. Well for future reference perhaps you could tell me who these two gentlemen are..." Doyle leaned over the desk as Bodie palmed the folder and slipped it under his jacket.
"Well... My French is a bit rusty but there's an awful lot going on here." Doyle tossed the folder on the coffee table.
"Like?" Bodie set a cup of tea down at Doyle's elbow. It did rankle sometimes that he didn't read other languages, so he made tea instead.
"Oh ta..." Doyle sipped gratefully, mind racing at what he'd read. "Well, they suspect a plot to overthrow the new government."
"What's that got to do with us?"
"Nothing overtly. Their government isn't our problem. However... There's a trail of drugs funding outlined here."
Bodie feigned sleep.
"They're tracking the movements of mercenaries and guns into the country. Oddly enough it seems they're interested in your friend Kemp. We should give him a heads up. Oh, and they're also going to try and nick another of our Foreign Office boys."
"No imagination. I like that in the opposition."
"Third day lucky?"
Bodie sipped his tea and stared out the car window at the lightening gray of dawn. They were ensconced outside the stately home of one Gerald Feldon, shadow minister for African Affairs. He shifted in the seat and sighed.
"I reckon they bottled, or plans changed." Bodie flicked on the RT. "5.6... Come in 5.6."
"5.6... What you want, Bodie?"
"You see anything Pete?"
"Not a whisper."
"Ta." He signed off and leered at Doyle.
"No... You can stop that right now," Doyle barked, even though he was grinning broadly.
"Surest way to make something happen innit?" Bodie snuggled close and blew into Doyle's ear.
"Surest way to make me belt you one." He cackled and clipped Bodie on the ear.
The tea went out the window as they wrestled gleefully in the car. Several minutes later, the RT crackled.
"3.7... 3.7! incoming!"
Bodie grabbed the RT and replied breathlessly. "Acknowledged, out."
Both men checked their weapons in unison and exited the car, following the plan they'd laid out to the letter. As the two DGSE men left their car, Bodie and Doyle paced them through the trees. As the foreign agents neared the house, Doyle signaled with his hand. Bodie crept up next to him and smiled. They waited until the men had crossed the gravel path and got to the door before speaking.
"Look... a key. We'll have to track down where they got that," Doyle mused. "Ah, they're in. Let's go."
They made their way silently over the gravel and flattened themselves against the wall either side of the door. Bodie peered in quickly, motioned all clear and flowed in silently, Doyle right on his heels.
The intruders were wasting no time; they'd already cleared the staircase. There was the sound of a door flying open and a stream of guttural yells in French. Bodie and Doyle rushed up the stairs, weapons at the ready. They burst into Feldon's bedroom to find Cowley sitting on Feldon's bed, covering the intruders with his own Browning, a vast smug grin on his face.
Bodie snickered and Doyle elbowed him.
"Well Sir, didn't need us after all," he quipped.
"No, but I felt you could use the practice."
Doyle laughed and pulled out his handcuffs. "Shall we escort our friends to the office?"
"Yes, Doyle. I have a few questions to ask them."
Doyle laughed as he read the Times. "Seems the French government is making some interesting concessions in the disarmament talks..."
"How interesting. Wonder why?" Bodie plopped down next to Doyle and pulled the paper away.
"Here, what are you after?" Doyle cackled happily, shifting closer to Bodie.
"Shall I get out the diagrams?"
Doyle smacked him in the head and drew Bodie closer. They dissolved into a tangle of giggles, moans and kisses.
-- THE END --