"I should have let him kill you."

[llywela]

Story opens on Bodie, playing at Peeping Tom…

Nah. He's actually on stakeout. Which means he's being paid to be a Peeping Tom, and provided with mahoosive binoculars and camera just for the purpose. While Bodie stares fixedly through said binoculars, Doyle sits behind him, reading a magazine called 'Boat Owner', of all things, while a fellow agent – the chain-smoking Anson – sits nearby, puffing away merrily. When Anson finishes one cigarette and lights up another, the silence in the room is finally broken by Bodie's languid observation that that's his twenty-fourth since five that morning. I really wouldn't want to be in that room. Talk about passive smoking.

Bodie: "You know, your mouth must be like an ashtray."

Before this line of conversation can be continued any further, Cowley arrives to find out what's going on, and the answer is – nothing. Whoever they are watching in the building opposite has not stirred for two and a half days. No wonder they all look so bored. Doyle and Bodie suggest that they've either been rumbled, or that whatever they thought was in there isn't in there after all. Cowley, all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed having not just experienced two and a half days of utter boredom on stakeout, is having none of it – he's convinced that it, whatever it is, is definitely in there.

Bodie [rolling his eyes at Doyle]: "Yes, sir. Whatever you say, sir."

Doyle then asks if there's any chance of a relief team, since it has been two and a half days. So Cowley jumps the other way entirely – they are going in. Just the two of them: Bodie and Doyle. Cowley sits down next to Anson to radio the agents in the street, cunningly disguised as a man washing his car really thoroughly and another one building a wall very slowly, and Anson breathes a cloud of cigarette smoke in his face, which amuses me immensely.

Bodie and Doyle gear up to head out, and Cowley snaps at them that he wants those men alive so to be careful, while Anson snarks amusingly behind his back.

In they charge, leaping and rolling, and Bodie smashes rather painfully into some crate that's been left lying around – bet that hurt. He gamely continues. The Lads work the bottom of the stairs, guns in hand, alert for anything…anything but the guy who appears in front of them and collapses at their feet, not a shot fired. Another comes tumbling down stairs, clutching a large canister that finally slips from his grasp…

The Lads take one look and run for it, because self-preservations is key.

Roll credits.

Turns out, although the canister is very definitely an explosive, a rather lethal one at that, they didn't have time to prime it.

Cowley: "Intended to blot out the place."
Doyle: "And us."
Bodie: "That's carrying keenness a bit far, innit?"

Cowley is at his brusque-est this episode, and the Lads at their snarkiest in defence.
Finding a little white packet in the pocket of one of the dead men, Cowley tastes it. I really wish they wouldn't keep doing that. Anyway, that wonderfully analytical tongue of his instantly identifies it as heroin. But they weren't users. It was suicide tablets that killed them. Why? Because they heard Doyle kick the door in and decided that was the only way out? How quickly do those tablets work? If they are that quick, maybe they should have primed the bomb first…Very sloppy!

While Cowley rants at Doyle about fanatics bringing their cause to London because they are so tolerant and just about anything can be bought there, Bodie is snooping around and it doesn't take him long to find what they were looking for in the first place – weapons, lots of 'em. This is part of a major weapons-smuggling operation.

Elsewhere in London, night: a nondescript little man is chased through the streets by two meaty, foreign-looking types. Cornered in an alley, he looks up in terror…at two police officers. Seems this is Sammy, a well-known cat burglar, and, taken into police custody, he remains in fear and trembling of whatever he's stumbled into.

Then Cowley takes a phone call…while at home, asleep in bed, in his pyjamas. It's like a miracle! Proof that Cowley actually does have a home and does not, as it sometimes appears, live at CI5 HQ. Evidence of previous episodes suggests, however, that he doesn't spend a huge amount of time at home. Listening to whoever is on the phone, he rattles off a few curt instructions before asking for Doyle and Bodie to be sent to his house.

They are there in a jiffy, still half-asleep, both of them. Ringing the bell, Doyle sort of lets his head flop against the wall, working away on his chin with an electric razor.

Doyle: "Sometimes I wonder if it's all worth it."
Bodie: "Yeah. Be nice to get eight hours sleep on the trot for once, wouldn't it? Not that you'd use it for sleeping, of course."
Doyle: "Oh, I would. Nothing I like better than curling up in bed with a good book."
Cowley [appearing behind him]: "Glad to hear you've been spending your spare time so profitably, Doyle."

Cowley is, as usual, wide-awake, and Bodie promptly leaps to attention and rips off an excellent impression of being equally awake. Doyle, still shaving, makes no such attempt.

Seems a bunch of Arabs have been killed out at some stately home in the countryside, and Cowley is very keen to know where all these weapons are coming from.

Back at the police station, cat-burglar Sammy gets very nervous on encountering an Arab prisoner, brought in for being decidedly disorderly, if not drunk. Sammy insists on talking to Inspector Truitt, much to the frustration of Sergeant Garbett trying to take his statement – and then both are startled by the appearance of a very expensive lawyer, a Mr Pullman, come to represent Sammy. Sammy isn't daft – he knows he can't afford Pullman, but he assumes that 'Marge' has arranged this, that she's looking after him. And Pullman, with a little smirk, allows him to believe this.

Out at the manor, there is a bustle of activity around the dead man – and one wounded, who is able to give details about the attack before his demise. Three men, all armed with sub-machine guns. The result was carnage. Doyle and Bodie have distaste written all over their faces and grouse about politics and warfare. Or rather: Doyle does most of the grousing, but Bodie's terse comments, thrown in here and there, say that he agrees wholeheartedly.

Next, Cowley takes a call from Inspector Truitt – seems Sammy got his interview with the Inspector after all. Truitt is somewhat long-winded, and Cowley very impatient, but they eventually get to the point, which is that Sammy has stumbled upon information that could be extremely relevant to CI5's current case. They arrange to meet, rather than exchange the information over the phone.

Cowley then demonstrates his incredible power of omniscience, calling HQ to ask them to dig out records on both Sammy and Truitt, giving full names, including all middle names, for both of them – information that certainly didn't come up during his short telephone conversation with Truitt!

Driving to the meet, Sammy is as jumpy as anything, convinced they are being followed. Out at the waste land they've arranged for the meet, Cowley stands around quietly fuming, while Bodie and Doyle quietly continue to grouse in the relative safety of the car.

Bodie: "I've seen him in better moods."
Doyle: "Exactly. Even if it was due it wouldn't be the day to ask him for a rise."
Bodie: "Hey, wait a minute. It is due. The rise. Three weeks ago."
Doyle: "Oh, forget it. I've still got a month old expense chitty he hasn't signed yet."

Pay and expenses are always good for grousing about.

Truitt and Sammy arrive, and it is all very cloak-and-dagger, and the reason for that becomes chillingly clear when Truitt is shot dead, out of the blue, the moment he sets foot out of the car. While Cowley dives for cover, Sammy panics and runs, and it is a fatal mistake as he too is shot a moment later.

Bodie and Doyle, in Cowley's car, start moving: heading for the sniper's position with Cowley bellowing after them that he wants the man alive. As they reach the derelict warehouse the sniper is shooting from, all out battle commences – the sniper attempting to defend his position, while Bodie and Doyle attempt to defend themselves while getting to him, heading up. As they close in, Doyle's gun gets a stoppage at the crucial moment, and all at once he is face to face with the sniper with a gun in his face, completely defenceless…

Bodie to the rescue: shooting the man dead just in the nick of time, against orders. Doyle then remembers how to breathe. Reaching him, Bodie starts yammering on about the weapons and how they are not as reliable as they are supposed to be, which gives Doyle the moment he needs to re-gather his wits and offer heartfelt thanks. The man is Middle Eastern, no documents, no identifying marks of any kind, and, on learning that he is dead, Cowley's frustration boils over.

Bodie: "I should have let him kill you."

So, they are back to square no-leads. The only thing they know is that Sammy was arrested in a fashionable suburb having just carried out a job, possibly several jobs. They have to backtrack Sammy's last steps to find out what it was he discovered that cost both him and Inspector Truitt their lives.

Cowley: "I've got this itch, and I can't scratch it. You know what that means – no one's going to get any rest until I do!"

The first stage of backtracking leads them to the police station, and the frustrated Garbett, who gives them as much information about Sammy and his habits and history, and the events of last night, as he can. A little arm-twisting yields a more information regarding Sammy's pet fence: one Margery Harper, who is also a valuable grass…

Bodie: "Right then, let's go and see her."
Garbett: "That's not going to be easy, I tell ya, not at all easy."
Doyle: "Nothing ever is for us, mate."

Marge's place is an antique store, deceptively empty and apparently unguarded. Then, as they venture further within, the hired muscle appears and makes the mistake of picking on Doyle first. Bodie just folds his arms and watches with amusement as Doyle takes the first out easily, and sends him flying into his buddy so that both go crashing to the ground. Garbett is equally amused, introducing them as Alf and Herbert: "Marge's own personal Berlin wall."

Marge herself then appears to see what all the commotion is about. Marge is fantastic. I love her on sight, trashy, brassy blonde motormouth that she is, queen of her own little empire. Plus, she takes an instant shine to Doyle, which endears her to me even more.

Marge: "I bet the birds are just putty in your hands."
Doyle: "That's more his department."
He nods toward the still highly amused Bodie.
Marge: "Oh no. You've got something. I spotted it right off, and I'm very fussy. You've got something."

Yep. Got to love Marge.

Every bit as amused as Bodie, Garbett leaves them to it. And the delight that is Marge continues as the Lads follow her upstairs. She mixes a very special drink for herself and Doyle – nothing for Bodie – and just watch how her eyes are fixed to Doyle's backside as he passes in front of her to sit down. She then glares at Bodie for daring to sit on her other side, and he perches uncomfortably on the edge of the sofa, wherein she proceeds to act as though he doesn't exist, giving Doyle her undivided attention. "I'm a dealer," she tells them, bluntly. "And I'm not very fussy who I deal with." But she's useful to the police, so they go easy on her, and what exactly is it they want from her?

"We need a bit of help," Doyle tells her, rather uncomfortably, since she has her hand on his knee.

"Ooh, I could help you, lover," Marge coos in reply. "Anything for you."

Behind her, Bodie buries his head in his hand.

While Marge digs out wonderfully detailed maps and plans of where Sammy was working last night, she continues to regale the Lads with tales of her past, and her four husbands, the most recent of which wanted to send her onto the streets to tart for him.

Doyle: "You'd have made a fortune, Marge."
Marge: "Oh, that's one of the nicest compliments anyone's ever paid me."

Bodie's face is a picture. And a moment later incurs the full Wrath of Marge by pulling out a notebook. This, apparently, is a crime not to be tolerated.

Marge: "You know, I haven't made up my mind about you yet, sonny boy. Pretty enough, yes, but you've got shifty eyes."

Doyle's turn to chuckle softly in amusement at his partner's discomfort.

Turns out, one of the jobs Marge set up for Sammy last night was the home of an industrialist by the name of Sir Lionel Laverton – a munitions dealer. The Lads are instantly interested. Bodie then incurs the Wrath of Marge once more by asking how she came to have such detailed information about Laverton's alarm system, and a laughing Doyle has to assure her once again that Bodie is 'all right'. The second house Sammy hit was that of a foreign diplomat.

Meanwhile outside, Alf – at least, I think it's Alf rather than Herbert – notices that the Lads have picked up a tail. A large car is sitting opposite, containing a couple of meaty Middle Eastern types. As soon as he is out of sight, one of them carefully places an unfriendly looking device beneath the wheel of Bodie's car. And then they make a speedy getaway.

Back inside, the news of the tail sitting outside is not an especial surprise, but very unwelcome, and Marge's offer of having her boys sort them out has to be very diplomatically turned down.

Marge: "Well, all right. But if you go the way of Sammy, I shall be very upset."
Doyle: "Thank you."
Marge: "Nice boys like you are few and far between. Louts are everywhere."
That last directed at Bodie, who pulls another face in response.

As the Lads head back to the car, Doyle stops for a spot of impromptu footie with a group of local children, and what a blessing in disguise that turns out to be, as the ball ends up in the gutter alongside the car and, when he goes to retrieve it, he spots the device resting gently against the wheel…

Cowley, while all this is going on, is off to a meeting with an arms dealer by the name of Miller – in a replacement car, his own having had its windscreen shot out by the sniper earlier.

Miller: "Bodie's still alive then. I wouldn't have put money on that a few years ago."
Cowley: "He wasn't working for me then."

Interesting. And apparently it was Bodie who contacted Miller on Cowley's behalf – making use of the contacts he built up during his previous life as a mercenary, clearly. One of the deals Miller set up recently was for Sir Lionel Laverton, which catches Cowley's attention. And another was with an Arab, Abdi Khaleel, but those guns never entered this country. It's all very vague – but at this stage, with his name cropping up more than once, Laverton is looking like the likeliest suspect.

Cowley proceeds from the meeting to the police station, to explore Inspector Truitt's desk and notes, still untouched. Therein, he discovers Pullman's card attached to Sammy's file, and is instantly intrigued. He is soon joined by the Lads, post-narrow squeak – and asks after the car, which was saved, apparently. I guess since his agents are clearly still in one piece, there's not much point asking after their health…

Doyle: "Don't think we'll be putting in for the bomb squad, though."

Cowley then gives them their instructions – they are to do a Sammy on both Laverton and the Arab diplomat: get into both houses unofficially and try to find out what it was that Sammy discovered.

Bodie: "Eh?"
Doyle: "You are joking, aren't you?"
Bodie: "Sammy's a professional."
Doyle: "Yeah, and Sammy's a bit dead just now."
Cowley: "So, you'll just have to be a bit more careful."
Bodie: "Breaking and entering?"
Cowley: "Oh, just entering. You don't have to break anything."

Over in the corner, Anson is hovering, looking mildly amused, as Cowley continues – not above pulling Doyle's leg.

Cowley: "Och, it's not as difficult as it sounds. Your girlfriend will set it up for you."
Doyle: "I wish you wouldn't call her that, sir."
Cowley: "From what I gather, Doyle, Margery Harper won't let any harm come to you."

The Lads continue to try to talk their way out of it – they really, really don't want to do this. But they might as well be talking to a brick wall. Cowley is immovable when he's made his mind up about something, and he has definitely made his mind up about this. He'll take care of the bombers they've got on their tail – they just have to worry about transforming themselves into successful cat burglars for the night. Doyle's parting shot is to grouse directly at the Controller to at least sign his expense chitty, and after they've gone Anson reaches for the phone to set up the intercept squad to protect their backs from the bombers. Cowley stops him, and Anson is nicely flabbergasted and protests in their defence. I'm inclined to like Anson just for that. Cowley blithely dismisses his very reasonable protest that Doyle and Bodie can't be expected to pull this off with a pair of bombers on their tail, but Cowley insists that it has to be this way if he is to successfully draw out the opposition.

Cowley can be a very hard man at times.

Over at Marge's place, Bodie and Doyle tool up, despite her protests about not liking guns.

Marge: "Just you take care of my boy, d'you hear me, Bodie."
Bodie: "I'll nurse him like his mother."

Marge rattles off instructions for them about Sammy's MO and how to avoid alarms and the like.

Doyle: "Oh, we'll be all right."
Bodie: "I wish I had your blind faith, mate."

They continue to talk about the gig, and what's involved, and the plans and habits of the Lavertons and the diplomat. Marge is scarily well informed – shame she won't let Bodie question her as to how.

Marge: "I hope you're getting well paid for all this."
Doyle sighs.
Bodie: "Sore point."

Cat burglary number one is soon underway – the Laverton place. Doyle does the honours on the window, to the accompaniment of grumbling from Bodie about how long he's taking. Doyle ripostes that this is not his usual line of work, and they are soon inside. This is not the usual line of work for either of them, and beneath that air of professionalism they are clearly a little nervous about it.

Bodie: "Hey, I think they're quite within their rights to shoot burglars, aren't they?"

They set about Sammying the joint, and are exceedingly horrified to find Sir and Lady Laverton asleep in bed, having been assured they would be at a swanky reception till the early hours. Maybe Marge isn't as well informed as she likes to think she is. It takes the sighting of sleeping pills beside the bed to calm those racing nerves once more.

Back at the station, Cowley is following up on the Pullman lead, figuring out that Sammy could have talked to the lawyer about the meeting they'd set up, and wanting very much to know who it was that sent Pullman there to deal with Sammy's case in the first place.

The Laverton place is a bust, so Doyle and Bodie head for the diplomat's residence, radioing in an update first. They are not at all impressed to learn that Cowley is out of radio contact – and even less impressed when Anson tells them that the interceptor squad are not protecting their backs.

I like Anson. It's probably a safe bet he's going against Cowley by telling them this, so I like his sense of loyalty to his fellow agents, wanting to keep them informed – it's the only real way he has to try to defend them, at this point, since they could be in very real danger.

Next up is the diplomat's residence, cat burglary number two. Got to love Bodie's 'oops' face when he accidentally opens a musical box and has to slam it shut again quick smart, and then Doyle's reaction when Bodie sneaks up behind him and he about jumps out of his skin. Lovely, subtle little touches that add so much realism and entertainment to the episode.

At the station, investigation into Pullman's past reveals what Doyle and Bodie already know – it is the Arab. Pullman has a previous connection with him. Cowley rushes out, and quickly joins Anson and the other agents out waiting for Doyle and Bodie. They can't go rushing in, though, not until they've got clearance. Until then, the Lads are on their own in there.

Inside, while Bodie is distracted leafing through girlie magazines, Doyle continues to investigate slightly more seriously. Bodie ignores Doyle completely as he carefully investigates and gains access to a secret room, hidden behind a bookcase. Then, when Doyle has done all the work, Bodie finally puts the magazine down and comes to join him.

Inside they find what looks like a large quantity of drugs, but before they can explore any further they find that Doyle hasn't been quite as clever as he thought – he missed an alarm. The lights go on, and they find themselves held at gunpoint by the two Arab musclemen of earlier, with the diplomat and Peter Pullman behind them.

Pullman instructs the hired muscle to finish them, but the diplomat instantly protests that he doesn't want murder committed in his house – elsewhere is fine, apparently, but not in his house. This gives Doyle and Bodie the diversion they need to fight back and disarm their opponents. Shooting out the window swiftly brings help of the 'there was a disturbance so we thought we'd better come right in' variety, and although Pullman tries to do a runner, he doesn't get very far. Worried about 'her boy', Marge and her personal Berlin Wall are also at hand, and Alf and Herbert very quickly apprehend him.

Marge is deeply dismayed to see Doyle's bruised face and split lip, and hisses at Bodie that he was supposed to be looking after him! Bodie, unperturbed, just stands there and smirks as she smothers a protesting Doyle in kisses. Teehee.

Marge is the best.

The diplomat's protests about having immunity fall on deaf ears with Cowley, who is deeply satisfied at achieving a successful resolution to the case at last. He tastes the drugs again, though. I really wish he wouldn't do that. It's so unnecessary. Anyway, the upshot is that cutting off this little drugs ring will also shut down the arms ring it was financing.

Close on Doyle, completely unable to escape Marge's clutches…

Fantastic.


Thanks to Sue for the screencaps! Headers still experimental and a work in progress until I decide which one I like best, or make one I like better!