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llywelaDecided it was about time for the next Pros recap in the series I've been doing for Prosfanfic. This time around it's episode 3.03, Mixed Doubles.
The episode opens on a chambermaid wandering into a hotel room wherein a man is removing a disguise – pulling a dark wig from his head to reveal greying hair beneath, his shaggy beard half-shaved. He's cut his cheek while shaving, and sports a dressing on that cheek for several scenes to come. "Nothing works around here," sighs the chambermaid of the broken chain on the door, and then freezes when she sees a gun left lying around on the bed. Busted, the man strangles her with his towel.
Titles.
Outside the White Lion Pub, children play. Inside, Bodie admires the barmaid.
"Well, if you're thinking of doing something about it, you'd better hurry up," Doyle ominously warns. "Few more hours you won't be capable." Bodie grimaces his request not to be reminded, and they share a moment of reflection on the reason for all this trepidation. "Bloody Cowley!"
Having finished his drink, Doyle gets up to leave. Bodie, who is still drinking, promptly grabs his arm and drags him back into his seat once more, protesting his keenness. "Listen, sunshine," Doyle protests. "Thinking about it, that's worse than doing it." He leaves. Bodie swallows another mouthful of beer and follows.
Cut to: the Lads arriving outside a small warehouse and hesitating outside the door. "Sooner we're in, sooner it's over," Doyle philosophically observes. Bodie agrees, pulling out a gun. Doyle eyes the gun with mild alarm.
"You know the rules – soon as we're on the other side of that door we're fair game," Bodie warns.
"Listen, you know that crazy bastard in there – he sees a gun he's gonna start shooting," says Doyle, and this proves to be a winning argument. Bodie puts the gun away.
The Lads decide to enter in style, kick the door open, and rush in. Inside, they find a man sitting casually reading a newspaper. This is Macklin, CI5 training coordinator extraordinaire. He spares them the merest of glances in acknowledgement of their arrival. Bodie and Doyle relax – just in time for another man to jump them from above, sending both sprawling to the floor. This is Towser, Macklin's partner. Macklin tuts at the flabbiness of our Lads. "You haven't met Towser, have you?" he remarks. "Well, you're going to be bumping into him quite a lot over the next couple of days." Oh, and how literally he means that. "Or rather, he'll be bumping into you. Just me and Towser. You have our undivided attention."
And the Lads look positively thrilled at the thought of it.
Hotel. The feet of the dead chambermaid stick out from under the bed, upon which the chambermaid's killer is lounging. He has a chair holding the door closed now, which he has to remove to allow a visitor to enter. As soon as the nervous young Arab is in the room, the Assassin snatches his briefcase, shoves him against the door and frisks him for his ID. Satisfied that the man is who he claims to be – one Ahmed Serpoy, "the faithful aide, the inside man" – he smiles and releases him. He's even more satisfied on finding the briefcase stuffed full of money, payment in advance for a job not yet carried out – clearly an assassination – and checks a few salient details. The date is set for the 25th, but not the location. "British security," Serpoy scoffs. Assassin is forceful, insistent that he be notified of the location the moment it is decided, adding that he is moving to a new location. "I ran into a little trouble. But don't worry – trouble is my business."
He hands over alternative contact details and tries to hurry his visitor out of the room, but Serpoy has more questions, wanting to know why they must wait till the 25th. Assassin explains that that is the only time they can know for sure exactly where the target will be. Serpoy protests that on such an occasion security will be drum tight, but Assassin is unconcerned. Serpoy wants to know how he will do it, and Assassin blithely explains that he won't be doing it, since security will be so tight and his face is so well known, no matter what his disguise. He is planning to sub-contract a pair of carefully selected and trained alternate-assassins to carry out the job on his behalf. "I guarantee their success."
Warehouse of Training and Torture. Bodie is facing off against a knife-wielding Macklin, with Doyle cheerleading from the sidelines. "Thought so, you're just like Doyle: reflexes shot to pieces," Macklin taunts, slicing Bodie's shirt and drawing blood. I'm fairly certain this particular training technique would not make it past health and safety regulations today.
"Hey, mind the shirt, he borrowed it from me," Doyle heckles, while Bodie curses.
Macklin, impassive, expresses pleasure at seeing a little bit of hate. Looks more like anger to me, but we can go with hate if he wants to. "Not enough hate, too much of the other, eh, Bodie?"
"Even Cowley doesn't want us cut to pieces!" Bodie protests, taking another slice, on the arm this time, and retreating behind a hanging tyre in the centre of the room. Doyle continues to cheerlead.
"Cowley doesn't want you dead, either, bloody fools," says the man wielding the knife. "This isn't a game."
"Not with a knife in your hand, it's not," agrees a slightly sullen Doyle, lounging attractively against the door in a very fetching bright red singlet.
Macklin promptly throws the knife at Doyle, and it jams into the door right alongside his shoulder. Nice aim. Doyle glowers and pulls the knife back out of the door, accepting his cue to return to action. "Your play, Doyle."
It's Bodie's turn to cheerlead, nursing his sore arm. Doyle faces off against Macklin, knife in hand, but in a matter of seconds he's been disarmed and dropped to the ground, with a couple of hefty kicks to the ribs for good measure. CI5 training at its finest. Bodie hauls him back to his feet, and the two of them huddle together defensively, casting wary glances at their tormenter.
"Towser. Don't break any bones, but just take them apart," Macklin orders. "Then we can start putting them together again."
Hotel. A little old man doing the cleaning discovers the body of the chambermaid, stuffed into the closet. That's not a very stealthy method of corpse disposal.
Assassin pays a visit to a small garage near the White Lion. 'Coney's Specialist Tuning and Repairs'. As his car pulls up outside, a hand snakes out from beneath the car currently being worked on, swapping a spanner for a gun wrapped in a rag. So this is the kind of establishment where trouble is always expected, then. The mechanic greets his visitor in an offhand manner, and is addressed as 'Frank Coney'. It's always nice to be given the names of guest characters upfront like this.
Assassin drops a bundle of money where the mechanic can see it. Then as Frank slides himself out from under the car, Assassin swiftly slides over it, with the result that they each end up in defensible position holding guns on one another. "You're good," Assassin approves. "Very good indeed. But not quite good enough. Not yet. However, we have a few days, we can alter that."
He's a very arrogant man, it must be said. He reproachfully chides Frank for his suspicion, pointing at the £500 he just dropped as testimony in his favour. They each lower their weapons as Frank picks up the money.
"You're not a fisherman, then?" says Frank, suspiciously. "Nice fat worm. Big plump fly. Just what the fish has been dreaming about all week. He takes it. Suddenly he's dead, surrounded with chips." He aims his gun at Assassin again, and thus Assassin, who has disarmed, suddenly finds himself at a disadvantage.
Unperturbed, he admires Frank's 'animal caution', saying that he also likes curiosity, and that Frank won't shoot him before he's heard the offer. Frank agrees that he likes a good story, and asks Assassin who he is. "No name," Assassin snaps. "But I come highly recommended. And so do you."
Frank asks for other names then, and they bandy credentials around for a while until they are each satisfied, before moving onto confirmation that Assassin wants Frank to pull a job for him, pay off to be agreed but likely to be substantial.
Now, you wouldn't think a mercenary like Assassin would want to sub-contract and thus reduce his own earnings like this. So it seems to me that he's in this for the challenge of pulling off the perfect assassination, rather than for the money.
Hotel. Cowley has been summoned to the scene of the chambermaid's murder, grumbling about how long it has taken for the report to reach him – any crime, any misdemeanour involving an Arab, and CI5 want to know about it, apparently. Wonder how a directive like that would go down in today's politically correct environment. Not that they are entirely sure there was an Arab involved in this, but the cleaner thinks he might have seen Serpoy earlier. The detective is sent to summon the witness, leaving Cowley alone to poke around the room. Being very much on the ball, he notices the door chain and fastens it, in the spirit of experimentation.
Coney's garage. Frank fixes drinks for himself and his visitor, asking for more details about the job. Assassin is tight lipped, and Frank realises that means the job is Big. Frank wonders if he will end up dead, and Assassin admits that it is possible. "You're the master of the hard sell, aren't you?" Frank snarks. Assassin calmly says that the risks will become apparent sooner or later, so why not sooner. Frank appreciates his candour. "It's a kill job, then…with a Ferrari at the end of it that I may not get to drive."
Assassin tells him that it is a two-man job, for safety. "I understand you already have a partner."
"No partner," Frank sharply insists. "Get yourself a partner and you might end up –"
"You start worrying about him, and you both end up dead," Assassin finishes for him.
Hotel. The detective returns with the Old Man, and the chain – as with the chambermaid earlier – simply falls loose, rather than denying them entrance. Cowley questions the Old Man about what he thinks he might have seen, and the man who rented the room. "He didn't register, it's that kind of hotel," Detective unhelpfully observes.
Cowley shows Old Man a few happy snaps of suspects until he sees one that rings a bell, and then dismisses him, sighs to Detective that the chambermaid was killed because she was a chambermaid. "She had a pass key. And this chain doesn't work." She saw something she wasn't supposed to see, so he killed her, Cowley surmises. "And God preserve us if it was this man." And that's nicely ominous, for the picture is indeed Assassin, all bearded up in disguise.
Warehouse of Training and Torture. Bodie and Doyle are feeling the strain, catching their breath on the floor while Towser moves things around behind them.
"Doyle?" Bodie gasps. "You know the irony of it? You know that form we sign where it says occupation, you know what I put?"
"Punchbag," guesses Doyle, deadpan.
Bodie laughs, or at least tries to, between wheezes. "Civil servant," he says, and Doyle also has to laugh. "Birds think I drink tea and push pens."
"Well, you can always resign," Doyle cheerfully points out.
"No," Bodie puffs. "That's what Cowley wants, he wants us to resign."
"What for?" Doyle questions this hypothesis.
"You think of any other reason?" asks Bodie, reasonably enough under the circumstances.
"No!" Doyle can't come up with anything off the top of his head, and then Towser comes at them with a weapon once more, prompting both to roll aside as fast as they can. Heh.
Coney's Garage. Frank frets that his non-partner is late, but Assassin is unruffled, optimistically hoping it means the non-partner is looking the place over first. As all good would-be assassins should, of course. Frank points out that he was the one who called his non-partner, meaning of course that the man should trust him and therefore be unconcerned. Assassin points out that he could have had a gun to his head when he made the call. What kind of life do these guys lead that a simple phone call would engender such suspicions? Or was the wording of the call that dodgy? Frank takes the point, and then sings his non-partner's praise, calling him 'the best there is'. He sounds nervous. He also sounds like a man talking about a close friend and partner, rather than a mere business associate he isn't going to worry about in the heat of a job. Assassin is looking for the best, so he's glad to hear this.
"Joe's canny," Frank waffles, apparently being the type that can't shut himself up while fretting. "He's…well, my other half, so to speak. Where I go blundering in, Joe waits. Thinks. Joe and me, well, we're…"
"Partners?" suggests Assassin, looking amused.
Irritated, Frank begins to deny the partners thing again, but Assassin shushes him, having heard a noise. "Don't be surprised when you see him," Frank cautions. "He's on the small side, but don't mention it. Gets up his nose." Assassin is more concerned about the fact that Joe seems to be coming to the door after checking the place out, which would make him a perfect target and thus rule him out of the job, meaning Frank would have to find himself a new partner. Frank is stung. "I told you, he's not my partner. We just work together, that's all. And small or not, he's a better –"
A light comes on behind them. Assassin whirls around and drops to a new hiding place, having been caught by surprise, as the as yet unseen Joe calls out to ask if Frank is all right. "Told you," Frank crows. "Back way and we didn't even hear him. Ten out of ten."
"Nine out of ten," Assassin sniffs, guessing that Joe will be one foot above the torch beam.
"Wouldn't do you any good," Joe tells him, concealed in a different location altogether, and holding a gun on his would-be employer. Frank is triumphant, and Assassin coolly expresses his pleasure at meeting Joe. Who isn't Frank's partner, of course not.
Warehouse of Training and Torture. Doyle protectively wraps a blanket around himself as he wanders over to watch Towser cooking eggs. He then joins Bodie at a table nearby.
"Don't say anything," Bodie hoarsely croaks, already shovelling his own plateful of eggs into his mouth. "It's a dream."
"Eh?" says Doyle.
"He's stopped hitting us," Bodie clarifies. "It's nice, isn't it?"
I love their attitude to this intense training they are being put through, grumbling about the harshness of it with such good humour and snark. It's a necessary evil that they are never going to enjoy but do have to get through, and they are in it together.
"D'you think that means we've passed?" Doyle wonders, getting all hopeful that the ordeal might be over at last. Macklin arrives at this point, and Doyle gestures to the table. "What's this, a traditional last hearty breakfast?"
"You're hurt, both of you," says Macklin, far too cheerfully. "You're battered and bruised, and you hurt."
"He's psychic," Bodie loudly whispers in an aside to Doyle. Heh.
"So now you stop getting hurt –" Macklin begins.
Doyle interrupts. "You mean we can go home?"
"I mean you stop getting hurt because I teach you how to stop getting hurt," Macklin dryly explains. Bodie and Doyle both groan, because they know what that means – more of the same. Macklin continues that he knows they've both been through it all before, acknowledging that they are good – adequate, anyway. But not good enough. "Towser, he's just a pushover."
"I wish you'd tell him that," mutters Bodie.
Macklin points out that they've already met better and bigger. And will meet even better in the future. "But you're rusty. And Cowley doesn't want you rusty, he wants you fit. He wants you honed to a fine edge. Razor-sharp."
And what's really hilarious about this little speech is that while Macklin is delivering it, Bodie is just blinking at him, half asleep, heard it all before and too tired and sore to care, while Doyle gleefully seizes upon his eggs when Towser gives them to him, and digs in with hungry appetite, not listening to a word Macklin is saying. Until Macklin asks if he's enjoying the eggs.
Doyle drops his fork in exasperation. "The eggs are poisoned." Hee.
Macklin continues to ignore the heckling and expounds about eggs being full of protein and energy, which they need plenty of. "A ten mile run," he happily announces.
"You mean a ten mile jog," Bodie foolishly rebuffs. "Don't you?"
"We-ell, yes," Macklin allows, a glint in his eye. "You jog the first ten miles…"
Doyle's head drops onto Bodie's shoulder in helpless despair. Viewers snicker.
Coney's garage. Frank and Joe are puffing their way through a set of sit-ups when Serpoy pulls up outside. Assassin smoothly suggests that they take a walk. They pass Serpoy on their way out, and now that we see them standing side-by-side, Joe doesn't seem as short as all that – shorter than Frank, yes, but nothing to write home about.
Frank and Joe wander off, banished from Frank's own garage. Inside, Serpoy smugly informs Assassin that the location has been agreed, and hands over a thick brown envelope, presumably detailing this location.
Streets of London. Bodie and Doyle run hard, looking all hot and sweaty, and paced by Towser on a motorbike. They pass the White Lion.
Inside the White Lion, Frank and Joe discuss the mystery job they've been hired for. Frank is fretting that they don't even know what the job is yet. Joe is confident that they will know in time, and is content to wait until then. "You never look at anything but page three and the sports, do you?" he chuckles. "I recognised him right away, even though he's tricked his face up a bit. That identikit was close. The big one in Vienna, and before that in Berlin. Sweet, both of them. And he didn't lose a man."
Joe seems more excited about being handpicked by Assassin than he is the pay-off for the job. I suppose it's some kind of ultimate respect, recognition of their criminal prowess. Frank is finally on the same page, and now has a new reason to fret. "Bit of a leap for us, Joe." I thought Joe was the one who thought things through and Frank the one who just leapt in? Not on this evidence. Frank so far strikes me as something of a worrier.
"The risk's the same, always the same," Joe reassures him. "But this time the money's different."
Coney's Garage. Assassin is not happy about the location that has been chosen and where the hit must be carried out. Still, assassins can't be choosers – or can they? Turns out there is an alternative location, and Serpoy has the plans for that, as well, since his President foolishly trusts him implicitly even though the British don't. Assassin declares this second venue to be far more suitable for his purposes, makes enquiries about security – which would be ramped up to the highest level only the day before the ceremony – and decides that they will have to get the whole shebang switched to this alternate location. Serpoy really isn't on the ball and so fails to see where this is could be going, arguing that any overt attack could cause the entire ceremony to be called off. Assassin snips that he intends to be rather more subtle than that. Serpoy then nervously begins that he will be at the ceremony too, and Assassin calmly assures him that they are being paid for only one hit and that he shouldn't worry. Serpoy tells him that the whole Ben Massah movement is relying on him, like he really expects that to matter to a professional assassin who is in this for the money and the challenge and nothing else. Assassin ponders his next move.
Warehouse of Training and Torture. Macklin and Towser greet Cowley as he arrives. "Come to view the remains?" Macklin cheerfully enquires.
"I sincerely hope not," is Cowley's brisk reply, wondering how the Lads are shaping up.
"Oh, they'll do," is Macklin's less than heartening response. "In fact, they're the best you've got."
"They're the best?" That is not an especially comforting thought for Cowley as he enters the warehouse to find Bodie and Doyle collapsed in a heap on the floor. They scramble into more-or-less upright positions when they see their Controller, and wonder if this means they are going back to duty. Far better to be shot at by international terrorists than endure any more training!
Cowley sends Macklin – whose first name, we learn, is Brian – and Towser outside so he can talk to the Lads in confidence. They close the door after them, so Cowley has only his own trust in their reliability to be sure that they aren't eavesdropping on this top security briefing.
"This isn't an empty exercise," Cowley begins.
"Told you, Doyle," Bodie wearily snarks. "We're being sponsored by Oxfam to destruction!"
"I offer the best, and that's what I intend to provide: the very best," Cowley explains, with the light of true fervour in his eyes. This is what drives him, the chess-like challenge of carrying out an enormously difficult job to the very best of his, and his agents', ability. Of outwitting men like Assassin. And Assassin, in turn, thrives on the challenge of trying to outwit men like Cowley. This episode is all about parallelism.
Having established that this intense training has been all about getting the Lads to the peak of physical fitness, Cowley goes on to reveal that this next job is the Big One. "President Parsali. Until a moment ago, only 23 people knew. Now it's 25."
Or possibly 27, if Macklin and Towser are nosing at the door.
Bodie wonders what it is they are supposed to know from that name, but Doyle is a step ahead and realises this is about a treaty, because Doyle is the Joe of this partnership and pays attention to the news. Just what this treaty is all about is never really revealed, but clearly it is something pretty huge, and it is to be signed in England the following Tuesday.
"And there's a whisper of a kill," says Cowley, still with that glint in his eyes. He really does relish a challenge like this, playing for such high stakes. He goes on that with someone as controversial as Parsali there is always a whisper of a kill, but they have to take it seriously. "He's our pigeon; we're providing cover. Such cover that the only kill that might have a hope would have to be a close kill."
"Kamikaze kill?" Bodie wonders.
Cowley admits it's possible. Minimal disclosure is at the heart of the security operation, but Bodie and Doyle are now part of the need to know crew, because this is the job they've been training for so intensively: to keep Parsali alive.
And honestly, they both look too completely knackered to give two hoots.
Coney's Garage. Frank and Joe return to find Assassin heaving a bunch of crates and gas canisters into position to form a mock up of a staircase. Why on earth Frank would have that much junk rattling around his garage I have no idea. Without any further ado, Assassin informs them that President Parsali is the man they are being paid to kill.
Warehouse of Training and Torture. Cowley hands Bodie and Doyle ground plans for both venues – the first choice and the backup. No addresses, because of that minimal information thing. Their first task is to study the plans in minute detail. "The very best. I'm relying on you."
Aww. Cowley isn't much of a one for pep, but he does come out with these terse little remarks every now and then to indicate how highly he thinks of his men.
Coney's Garage. Assassin talks his plans through with Frank and Joe, using his mock up of venue two as a visual aid. Frank is to make the hit from the half landing of the staircase, with Joe providing covering fire from the landing above. "Your job is to take out the bodyguards. You'll know them because they will be like yourselves: thoroughbreds, nervous, on the balls of their feet, spoiling for a fight. But you will have the advantage of surprise, say, uh, two seconds. Use them well. Hit, and hit hard." In the panic of the assassination, he goes on, the bodyguards will be the only ones paying attention to the assassins, so Frank and Joe must take them out, or they are finished.
Frank and Joe versus Bodie and Doyle: the mixed doubles of the episode title, and principle parallel of the story.
Warehouse of Training and Torture. Macklin demonstrates his marksmanship by bullseyeing every target. Impressed, Doyle and Bodie snark that he doesn't really need them, would be great on his own. So Macklin sends the ever silent Towser off to make coffee and then regales them with the story of his own former life as an active agent. "I used to be good. Then I got myself gutshot in Hong Kong. They broke my pelvis and both my arms, and heaved me into the Bay. The Service flew me back – tourist class, of course. They didn't want to pamper me. And then just like Humpty Dumpty they stuck me back together again, as good as new – but the cracks still show. My nerves were shot to hell. I can't face a target that shoots back at me any more. And that's why I drive you so hard. Because it shouldn't have happened in the first place: I was below par, out of shape, vaulting a twelve foot fence with a ten foot pole. So don't do as I do, do as I say and stay in one piece."
So how's that for a cautionary tale? He then slides without pause into a discussion on the ammunition they will be using…
…which leads us into the parallel conversation over at Coney's Garage. Assassin informs his sub-contractors that they will be using dum-dum shells, which fragment and spread on impact. Joe frowns. "That's a hell of a dirty thing," he mildly objects. Assassin snips that if he isn't up for it… Joe snaps back that he didn't say he wasn't up for it, just that it was dirty, then relaxes and grins. "Well, just another way of killing."
Warehouse. Alone at last, Bodie and Doyle ponder their new mission. Bodie wonders again about a kamikaze kill, and Doyle comes up with an example: a mad Chinese bloke with a hatchet the previous year, who needed ten agents to bring him down. "Yet one soft nose would've stopped him flat," Bodie muses, eyeing his gun appraisingly, and suggesting that on Tuesday they might need to doctor their ammunition if that's what they are going to be dealing with. When Doyle pointedly asks if he's talking about dum-dums he starts to answer in the affirmative, and then realises his partner is projecting moral scruples and crumples his face in exasperated dismay. "Oh, you're not going to give us that one man Geneva Convention bit, are you?"
"No, I've seen what they can do," says Doyle.
"Yeah, stops 'em dead," protests Bodie, clearly seeing this as the main consideration. "And I mean dead. No objection to dead, have you? 'Cause next Tuesday I don't want to be standing alongside you while you make your decision."
"Not dead," Doyle objects. "It's dum-dum."
"Dead or dum-dum, what's the difference? It's them or us," Bodie snips, the easy-going, in-this-together banter of earlier now replaced by tense disagreement.
"I didn't come into this mob to use dum-dums," Doyle flatly insists.
And you've got to appreciate the way that the two sets of partners are paralleled as much by their differences as their similarities, as demonstrated by Doyle and Joe's differing attitude toward dum-dums: both disapprove, but while the one quickly gets over it and accepts their use, the other stands his moral ground.
House in the Country. Assassin takes a few happy snaps of security agents on guard.
Coney's Garage. Assassin shows his photographs to Frank and Joe, and lectures them further on what to expect on the day of the signing. Assassination plans are discussed – Joe asking questions while Frank just sits back and listens. Until Assassin finishes his explanation of the plan, which is when Frank finally speaks up to raise an excellent point: if the place will be swarming with security, how are they to get in? Assassin grins and asks if they've heard of the wooden horse of Troy.
Warehouse of Training and Torture. Macklin zooms up on a motorbike, closely followed by a sprinting Bodie and Doyle, who demonstrate their peak of fitness by bursting through the door and scaring the living daylights out of Towser, who was enjoying a nice quiet cuppa while they were out. He finally breaks his silence, yelling his shock.
Coney's Garage. Frank and Joe practice their hit. Joe wonders how Assassin intends to get the venue shifted from the first to second choice. "With subtlety," smirks Assassin, admiring his own cleverness. He hushes the other two as a car pulls up outside. It's Serpoy, who has been summoned for a meeting. Assassin promptly knocks him down and sets about tying him up, and the idiot – still conscious – never once thinks to try yelling for help. Seeing Frank and Joe gaping at him, Assassin snarls that this is necessary, but they don't have to watch. Slightly disturbed, they leave him to it.
White Lion Pub. Frank and Joe gaze out of the window and chat about what they might do with their earnings when this job is over. Frank drools over the mental image of girls in the Bahamas, while Joe jokes that the pygmies of New Guinea might be more his size. He isn't that short!
Bodie and Doyle pull up outside the pub. Well, with Coney's Garage and the Warehouse of Training and Torture both being somewhere in the immediate vicinity, it was bound to happen sooner or later, that all four would be there at the same time. Seeing our Lads getting out of the car, Joe starts to get philosophical about people who lead normal lives with normal jobs, since that's what he assumes these two average looking guys have. "Butcher, baker, candlestick maker. Normal. Nine till five, and lunch on the company." Oh, if only he knew. And also – he's describing the exact kind of life he could have himself, if he actually wanted. He chose to be a criminal and assassin; no one forced him. Frank cuts short his daydreaming with a more practical suggestion of another drink.
Frank heads to the bar. On the other side of a pillar, Bodie and Doyle also arrive at the bar, and are served first, the barmaid asking what she can do for them.
Bodie: "Oh, if I told you."
Barmaid: "You'd be chucked out on your ear."
Bodie [to Doyle]: "Let's find some original dialogue, mate."
The barmaid gets shirty, and Doyle pacifies her by means of placing an actual order, as opposed to Bodie's attempt at flirting. Bodie objects to Doyle having asked for two halves, rather than two pints…only for Doyle to chirpily point out that this way they get two bites at the cherry. Men. *G* "All that training's sharpened you up, hasn't it," Bodie approves.
The barmaid drops a glass and bends to pick up the pieces. Bodie promptly dives forward to get a better view of her breasts. So does Frank, who has been hidden on the other side of the partition until now, and the two men – so alike, and yet so different – smirk at one another in mutual appreciation of the barmaid's charms and recognition of a kindred spirit.
A gang of young revheads wander in, and it has to be said that for a show all about crime-fighting, louts like this are almost always really badly portrayed. The bad behaviour is really badly acted, but nevertheless instantly inspires the wrath of the short-tempered barmaid, who chucks them out quick smart before turning her attention back to her paying customers. "You see," Bodie teasingly suaves. "You really ought to encourage the better class of customer."
Outside, the thwarted revheads start smashing up the local scenery, including Bodie's car, for no apparent reason other than they feel like it. Outraged, Bodie dashes out to save his beloved car – CI5 won't stump up for repairs if the damage wasn't incurred in the line of duty, I daresay – followed closely by Doyle. Fighting ensues.
Frank and Joe wander out to watch the show and offer commentary on the foolhardiness of getting into a situation like this without even being paid for it. Then one of the revheads pulls a knife on Bodie, and Frank promptly wades in to the action in defence of this stranger. Well, he said he was the impulsive one. "Fight's a fight, but he was going to kill you," he modestly brushes off his intervention, shaking Bodie's hand, having helped save the day.
So, the opposing teams have now met and established common ground – half of each, anyway – if only they knew it.
Coney's Garage. Assassin bundles the tightly bound body of Serpoy into the boot of his car.
Warehouse of Training and Torture. Cowley is hanging around waiting and watch-watching when Bodie and Doyle return. Doyle is lounging most attractively in the passenger seat with a foot sticking out through the missing windshield. I love it. When Cowley asks where they've been, Bodie cheerfully replies that they've been putting their training to good use, and Cowley knows better than to enquire any further. In fact, he ignores the reply completely, giving the impression that he was only asking to express disapproval of their lateness rather than actually wanting to know. The Lads jump into his car, to be taken to the two venues – they need to thoroughly familiarise themselves with both.
Coney's Garage. Frank and Joe have just finished packing their bags when Assassin returns. They are ready to go; Assassin decides that first they will run through the simulation one last time. Practice makes perfect, after all.
Venue One. It's rather grand. Cowley, Bodie and Doyle arrive and start looking the place over.
Coney's Garage. Frank and Joe run through their assassination simulation. Assassin tells them to do it again.
Venue One. Bodie proclaims it a fortress. Cowley wonders if he could find his way around in the dark. "Just about," he says, and Doyle pulls a fabulous face at him, which – like in the last episode – smacks of a joke between the actors more than of acting, but works equally well as a joke between the partners. Cowley tells them to go over the place again.
Coney's Garage. Frank complains that Assassin is making them tired. Assassin counters that he is making them efficient. "I'm keeping you alive."
Venue Two. Bodie decides he's seen all he needs. "In ten minutes?" Cowley disbelieves. Bodie feels that since this is only the standby, there is no need for closer inspection – they spent an hour at the real one. "Every eventuality, Bodie," Cowley dryly tells him, and starts quizzing the partners about the building. They seem to have the place pretty much sussed out, even after only ten minutes (plus intensive studying of the plans earlier).
And then the camera cuts back and forth between Coney's Garage and Venue Two to show the two sets of partners being put through their paces by their respective controllers. It's a nifty directorial touch that works well for this story.
Venue Two. Assassin pulls up nearby, but not so close as to attract attention. "I will be here again tomorrow. I will be here for exactly sixty seconds after I hear the first shot," he says by way of goodbye and good luck to Frank and Joe. "After that, I will not be waiting."
"After that, there wouldn't be much point, would there," Frank admits, whereupon Assassin does actually wish his sub-contractors luck before driving away and leaving them to execute the plan. Or not.
Frank and Joe head for the house, neatly disabling the electric fence and picking locks with impunity. They nearly have a sticky moment when one of the security guards wanders past and almost catches them in the act, but manage to hide in time, and the guard – not expecting any trouble – fails to notice the lock picks they've left hanging out of the door. They are soon inside, and steal a quick look at the scene of their planned assassination attempt, before sneaking up to the attic with their overnight bags to wait for the crowds to descend for the treaty signing.
I hope they didn't pack anything they are especially fond of, or that could be traced to them, since they are hardly going to have time to retrieve their belongings before hotfooting it away post-assassination.
Random Railway Arch. Assassin dumps Serpoy's corpse, and makes a hasty exit.
Later. It actually looks bright enough to be the following morning, but it is clearly meant to be later the same day, so whatever. Cowley identifies the corpse of Ahmed Serpoy, personal aide to President Parsali. "Tortured before they shot him." Nasty. Poor naïve fella, so easily reassured that Assassin wouldn't kill him simply because he wasn't being paid to do so. Bodie wonders if Serpoy talked. "Well, of course he talked," says Cowley. "Wouldn't anyone? Wouldn't you, if they did that to you?"
Doyle wonders what Serpoy would have told his attackers, and Cowley amends that question to 'what could he have told them?' As far as Cowley knows, Serpoy knew only the details of Venue One. See, this is where minimal information gets you – Cowley doesn't know that Parsali confided further in his aide, and doesn't think to ask. So, the treaty signing is switched to Venue Two.
Venue Two. Assassin lurks in the fields nearby, watching a full-scale security operation swing into force, and smirks at the success of his murderous plan.
Attic. Frank and Joe hear the sounds of occupation elsewhere in the building and realise that Assassin's plan has worked – they are on.
Downstairs. Expensive looking security equipment is moved into place. The inconspicuous little trapdoor leading into Frank and Joe's attic hideout is completely overlooked. Why would anyone be up there?
Bodie and Doyle arrive, their entry setting off a monitor on the door. "I always knew you lads would turn out to be useful one of these days," snarks the technician monitoring it. "Works perfectly."
"But can it fight?" Bodie deadpans back at him.
"No, but it can tell you just where to go to get your head blown off," Technician cheerfully tells him. There's a beam on every door and window, he explains. Nobody can get in or out without the alarm knowing about it. Shame about the wannabe assassins already being inside, then.
"Course, the guys we're up against used to be miners, you know. Tunnelling," Doyle remarks in a conversational tone, winding Technician up with marvellous ease. Hee. I love it when relationships with random extra CI5 flunkies are established like this.
Technician has had enough of the conversation already and wanders off. I daresay that fancy alarm is no good if there's no one monitoring it. Anyway, he leaves the Lads alone to ponder the fact that this is where it's all going to happen.
Attic. Frank and Joe play cards to pass the time.
Hallway. Bodie lounges sleepily in his sleeping bag, while Doyle sits cross-legged alongside him, cleaning the guns. I get why Frank and Joe are camping out on the property, but why do Bodie and Doyle have to stay the night, roughing it like this? They clearly aren't guarding the place overnight, since they are bedding down rather than on duty, and will need to be at their absolute best in the morning, so why not send them home for a good night's sleep in their own beds?
"Wish I'd seen Claire last week," Doyle remarks, apropos of nothing, informing us in the process that his latest squeeze-of-the-week is a girl called Claire. "She drew nights at the hospital last week. Didn't see her."
Ooh, so this unseen latest girlfriend not only has a name, but an occupation. And for Doyle to be bemoaning not seeing her last week, they must have been dating for some time prior to that. Squeeze-of-the-month, then, rather than week. Nice though it is that there is nothing remotely soap opera-ish about the show, it would be so nice to see more of this side of things, the difficulty balancing such a demanding job with anything resembling a social life. Especially if the girlfriend of the moment has an equally demanding job, working shifts at a hospital – it's easy to imagine how difficult it might get, trying to find time to see one another.
Half asleep and determinedly playing dumb, Bodie murmurs that if Claire drew nights last week, they'll be all right this week. What's he worried about? Doyle promptly clarifies that he isn't worried, just commenting that he didn't see her. "There are things I wish I'd said to her."
That implies that he's been seeing this girl long enough to be at least partly serious about her, which again makes me wish the show had been willing to go down the road of establishing girlfriends for the Lads who were both seen on-screen and lasted longer than one episode, because it would add more weight to scenes like this if we actually knew who he was talking about and had seen them together – and then later got to see it all fall apart anyway.
"Oh, cut it out, will you," Bodie grumbles from beneath the arm he's got flung across his face.
It's Doyle's turn to play dumb and pretend not to realise what this is really about.
"I know what you said. Bad medicine," Bodie tells him, rolling onto his side with the air of a man who really, really wishes he were asleep already. "Next thing you'll be asking me if I've made a will."
There's a pause. Doyle doesn't look up from the gun he's cleaning. Then: "Have you?" he casually asks. Bodie snorts and tries to pull his sleeping bag over his head. "I was just interested, that's all," Doyle defends.
"Course I've made a will," says Bodie. "Done all my letters, too. First thing you do in the mob, isn't it? Get your affairs straight."
Attic. "I wanted something better," Joe is telling Frank. "Better than me mum and dad. Better than I could see ahead of me." Frank remarks that he had the schooling, but Joe counters that it's a 'now' society. "I want it now. Now, 'cause I'm still young, and you're a long time dead."
Such a selfish attitude. Joe is meant to be the Doyle-type in this partnership, but his attitude here really doesn't appeal to me at all. He's the Doyle-type, but the opposite – what Doyle could have become in a different life, if he'd made different choices, followed a different path, perhaps.
Hallway. "You believe that?" Doyle wonders, now sacked out in his sleeping bag having given up on the weapons maintenance for the night. "No afterlife, just –?"
"Yeah, don't you?" Bodie blithely wonders, rather more awake now that he's been drawn into conversation. "You were a cop, you don't accept anything without proof, for God's sake!"
Doyle looks at him quizzically. "'For God's sake'?"
Bodie rolls his eyes and chuckles. "Figure of speech. No, I believe in me, mate. 'Cause I was born tall, dark and beautiful…and engagingly modest, of course."
ROFL! The way he's laughing at himself as he says it, and Doyle laughs with him, is what makes this little snippet of conversation so fabulous. The two of them should always be like this. There's just so much unspoken affection here.
Attic. "Just got dealt the wrong cards, that's all," Joe morosely mutters, staring into his mug of cocoa, or whatever else was in that thermos they've brought with them. "Wrong town. Wrong street. Wrong time. Wrong bloody everything."
Man, he really is bitter, isn't he? Frank said he had the schooling, so he clearly could have made more of himself if he'd wanted to, if he hadn't opted instead for the easy road offered by crime.
Hallway. Doyle and Bodie seem to have given up on sleep for the time being, and are sipping tea or cocoa or whatever out of their own thermos. Proper little slumber parties, these.
"I was a right tearaway, I was," Doyle wryly chuckles, all nostalgic. "I cut up another kid and I was just a kid myself."
Bodie is a little surprised by this revelation.
"Well, streets where I grew up there was a kid like Macklin on every corner." Doyle attempts to explain his misspent youth. "And I got away with it, every time. Never got caught."
Attic. Frank tries to soothe his non-partner, pointing out that he's doing all right now. Joe is having none of it. "Haven't got any taller, have I?" he whinges. Height is such a petty thing to be so bitter about. "That's what they kept promising me," he goes on. "When you grow up. I know I'm small, I've lived with it all my life. It's a hell of a thing, Frank, to be 'Shorty' all your life. No matter how it's said. Shorty."
Yeah, but lack of height only ruins your life if you let it. Joe is an idiot. I feel no pity for him at all.
Hallway. "So, I joined the Force, got some discipline." Doyle continues his little origin tale.
"Oh, that's what you call it, is it?" Bodie smirks, amused.
I love the different attitudes of the Lads here, because Bodie is so light-hearted and chirpy where Doyle is quiet and contemplative, but both are taking the conversation seriously. This could be their last night of life, and they are spending it together, talking about things that matter to them, each accepting and understanding the other's attitude as his own individual way of dealing with the situation they are facing.
"Oh, don't knock it, it's better than nothing," says Doyle. "Glad to get out of it, though, glad to join this mob."
"You must be joking," Bodie snorts.
"No, I'm not," Doyle tells him. Doyle tends toward idealism, and he thinks too much at times. "The line was getting too narrow – what I was doing…no difference between what I was doing and what the villains were doing. In the blue corner right, in the red corner wrong… How 'bout you?"
Attic. "Excitement," says Frank, frankly.
Hallway. "Money," says Bodie.
"Is that all?" wonders Doyle.
"It's enough, isn't it? It's enough for me, anyway," says Bodie, evidently not inclined to get into any deep and meaningfuls about his own murky past, however much he might have appreciated Doyle's confidence.
"No, you've got to have another reason," Doyle insists, ever the thinker. "You've got to have a better reason than that."
Bodie just starts laughing at him, endlessly entertained by Doyle's propensity for over-thinking.
Attic. "A short life and a happy one," Frank continues, no more inclined toward over-thinking than Bodie is. "Least this way, Joe, I know I'm alive."
"Until you're dead," says Joe, still in a decidedly downbeat mood.
Hallway. "Then it's off to the pearly gates." Bodie expounds on his hedonist theory of life. "And then paradise…. Or maybe not." He smirks, finishing his cuppa and settling back down to sleep.
"Eh?" mumbles Doyle from within the depths of his sleeping bag.
"You never thought of that, did you?" Bodie chuckles. He's in an absolutely irrepressible mood tonight. Doyle enquires further, still from within the depths of his sleeping bag, and Bodie elaborates. "You know Cowley punches the Bible. Reads the Lesson. Well, he's not even on standby, mate. He's got a fully paid-up reserved ticket. He'll be up there with you. Where's your paradise now, eh? Luckily, I'm going the other way."
LOL! This episode is totally worth watching just for this campout scene alone.
Morning. Doyle sits out in the grounds, shaving with his trusty electric razor. The camera pulls back to reveal a handgun levelled at him…the gun is cocked and Doyle hears the sound, draws his own instantly…it's only Cowley. Check out how amused he is about sneaking up on his agent and getting that reaction. Got to love the Cow in moments like this. "Not bad. Not bad at all," he grudgingly concedes, not being one to spoil his men by over-praising them.
"Shouldn't do that, sir, not on a day like this," says Doyle, not amused, and the two of them agree that this is a day to be edgy. Doyle is looking decidedly spiffy, it has to be said. The sunnies and that light-coloured suit are fantastic.
Inside, Bodie is guarding the alarm monitor, and leaps up, gun in hand, when he hears Cowley and Doyle enter. Cowley notes that the edginess is catching, and wonders why the alarm didn't go off when they came in. Bodie admits that he switched it off, although he doesn't say why, and points out that they know who's coming through the door. It's the unexpected arrivals the alarm needs to be alerting them to, although I can quite see that with random people coming and going to get the place set up, the alarm would probably start to drive them all mad after a while.
Cowley then runs through the arrangements for transporting President Parsali to the venue. While he talks, notice how gloomy Bodie looks at the thought of how long they still have to wait to get this over with.
"Once he's on British soil he's our responsibility – yours," Cowley firmly instructs his men. "And I'm not one for pep talks, but there's two weeks leave coming to you when this is over."
Aww. For Cowley, that's practically a declaration of love!
"Two weeks," says Bodie once Cowley has gone.
"Think he knows something we don't?" wonders Doyle.
Heh. They think so too.
Bodie moves to stand facing his partner, looking him right in the eye. "You scared?" he asks in as offhand a tone as he can manage, still playing it cool.
Doyle nods. "Yeah. You?"
"Yeah," Bodie admits. "All the time."
Marvellous, marvellous. This last third of the episode is absolute gold for anyone who likes to study character dynamics, seeing how these two very different characters react to this situation and relate to one another through it.
Attic. Frank and Joe don their Sunday best in preparation for the hit. I hope all the other clothes and stuff they brought with them are things they don't mind losing, since they will have to be left behind. And a swig of whisky for good luck – never attempt an assassination with a clear head!
Downstairs. Bodie and Doyle prepare for the imminent treaty signing, arming up and making sure their weapons are as easily and readily accessible as humanly possible.
More cutting back and forth between the two sets of partners as they get ready, waxing shoulder holsters and making sure they sit just right, Bodie giving up on his and stuffing the gun into his waistband instead, checking that they remembered to pack spare shells, and so on.
Later. The house has filled up and there are people milling all around the reception area where the treaty is to be signed. Must be such a nuisance for bodyguard types, having so many people around making it harder for them to do their jobs.
President Parsali – we never do find out just where he is meant to be president of, or what this treaty is actually all about – arrives by helicopter. Outside, Bodie and Doyle stand around attractively as they watch it land. Inside, Cowley scurries to a window to watch.
Up in the attic, Frank and Joe look at one another as they hear the helicopter land, and know that it is almost time for action. There's a nice sense now of the episode building up to its crescendo. Joe sits and stares at the open barrel of his gun, with its dum-dum shells. I don't really like Joe's bitter and self-pitying attitude, but I do appreciate morally ambiguous bad guys who have more than two dimensions to their characters. Frank leans over and closes the gun. "They're going to die, whatever we hit them with," he softly tells his non-partner.
Downstairs. President Parsali is led into the reception room, surrounded by lackeys and other diplomatic types, Bodie and Doyle lurking among them, very much on the alert for any kind of threat. Cowley is also close at hand, equally alert. The ultimate responsibility for the security of this event lies with him. This is when he gets to find out how well he's played his hand.
Attic. Frank and Joe check their watches and agree to make their move after the speeches have started.
Downstairs. The speeches begin, and are highly speecharific.
Outside. Assassin pulls up in his bright and conspicuous red car to wait and see if his sub-contractors were worth the hiring price.
Inside. President Parsali is introduced and begins his speech.
Upstairs, Frank and Joe take deep breaths and decide it is time to act. They climb down the little loft ladder and manage to get it folded away back up in the attic remarkably quietly – in my experience those things usually make a dreadful noise.
Downstairs. President Parsali is still talking about the treaty he is about to sign. At the top of the stairs a random security chap is incapacitated and dragged out of sight. In the reception room, the CI5 team continue to quietly stalk around looking for any signs of trouble, Doyle chewing gum furiously, like it's comfort food or something.
Bodie sees a movement on the stairs and looks again. It's Frank. Now, there was a security chap upstairs, so how suspicious it would be to see someone there would depend on how well Bodie knows the other members of the security contingent. As it turns out, he locks eyes with Frank and they recognise one another from their encounter at the pub, each smiling in recognition before realising just what's massively wrong with this picture.
And then all hell breaks loose. Bodie and Frank each dive for their weapons and draw at speed. They both fire. Frank falls back against the wall, and we don't see what happens to Bodie. At the first shot, Cowley dives forward to protect President Parsali. Joe belatedly begins with the covering fire he was meant to be providing, taking out a random diplomatic flunky before the massive table in the reception room is upended to provide shelter for those fortunate enough to be able to cower behind it. Joe exchanges fire with Doyle, and is hit in the shoulder, but isn't so badly wounded that he can't make a run for it, leaping out of a handy nearby window.
Nearby, Assassin is fidgeting while he waits, counting down the seconds since hearing the first gunshot. Joe sprints through the trees, with Doyle and other random security agents in hot pursuit. We still haven't seen Bodie since the first shots were fired, it's worth remembering. Both Doyle and Joe are having to act and react without thought for their partners, falling back on their training in order to get the job done, each in their differing ways.
Assassin gives up and starts driving away just moments before Joe reaches him. Despairing, Joe takes the only revenge he can on the man who got him into this and then abandoned him – he shoots holes in the engine and tyres, causing the car to crash into a nearby tree.
Doyle catches up and yells at Joe to freeze. Reacting on instinct now, what with being wounded and cornered and all, Joe begins to raise his gun, and Doyle fires, killing him dead.
Inside, Bodie stands looking down at Frank's corpse, which has tumbled downstairs. Cowley joins him. "Dum dums," he furiously notes. "The bastards – why'd they have to use dum dums?"
"Maybe it seemed like a good idea at the time," a subdued Bodie quietly suggests.
Outside. Doyle leaves the random other security people to deal with Assassin and his crashed car while he silently walks past Joe's body to crouch at the side of the lake contemplating his weapon – dum dums or normal bullets, the end result is exactly the same.
And that's the end of this charming and contemplative little episode. The final credits name Assassin as Rio, but I didn't catch his name used once during the episode. We never get to find out if there was any kind of internal enquiry conducted to locate the leak that allowed assassins into the venue ahead of the event! But the character work and banter are absolute gold.
The episode opens on a chambermaid wandering into a hotel room wherein a man is removing a disguise – pulling a dark wig from his head to reveal greying hair beneath, his shaggy beard half-shaved. He's cut his cheek while shaving, and sports a dressing on that cheek for several scenes to come. "Nothing works around here," sighs the chambermaid of the broken chain on the door, and then freezes when she sees a gun left lying around on the bed. Busted, the man strangles her with his towel.
Titles.
Outside the White Lion Pub, children play. Inside, Bodie admires the barmaid.
"Well, if you're thinking of doing something about it, you'd better hurry up," Doyle ominously warns. "Few more hours you won't be capable." Bodie grimaces his request not to be reminded, and they share a moment of reflection on the reason for all this trepidation. "Bloody Cowley!"
Having finished his drink, Doyle gets up to leave. Bodie, who is still drinking, promptly grabs his arm and drags him back into his seat once more, protesting his keenness. "Listen, sunshine," Doyle protests. "Thinking about it, that's worse than doing it." He leaves. Bodie swallows another mouthful of beer and follows.
Cut to: the Lads arriving outside a small warehouse and hesitating outside the door. "Sooner we're in, sooner it's over," Doyle philosophically observes. Bodie agrees, pulling out a gun. Doyle eyes the gun with mild alarm.
"You know the rules – soon as we're on the other side of that door we're fair game," Bodie warns.
"Listen, you know that crazy bastard in there – he sees a gun he's gonna start shooting," says Doyle, and this proves to be a winning argument. Bodie puts the gun away.
The Lads decide to enter in style, kick the door open, and rush in. Inside, they find a man sitting casually reading a newspaper. This is Macklin, CI5 training coordinator extraordinaire. He spares them the merest of glances in acknowledgement of their arrival. Bodie and Doyle relax – just in time for another man to jump them from above, sending both sprawling to the floor. This is Towser, Macklin's partner. Macklin tuts at the flabbiness of our Lads. "You haven't met Towser, have you?" he remarks. "Well, you're going to be bumping into him quite a lot over the next couple of days." Oh, and how literally he means that. "Or rather, he'll be bumping into you. Just me and Towser. You have our undivided attention."
And the Lads look positively thrilled at the thought of it.
Hotel. The feet of the dead chambermaid stick out from under the bed, upon which the chambermaid's killer is lounging. He has a chair holding the door closed now, which he has to remove to allow a visitor to enter. As soon as the nervous young Arab is in the room, the Assassin snatches his briefcase, shoves him against the door and frisks him for his ID. Satisfied that the man is who he claims to be – one Ahmed Serpoy, "the faithful aide, the inside man" – he smiles and releases him. He's even more satisfied on finding the briefcase stuffed full of money, payment in advance for a job not yet carried out – clearly an assassination – and checks a few salient details. The date is set for the 25th, but not the location. "British security," Serpoy scoffs. Assassin is forceful, insistent that he be notified of the location the moment it is decided, adding that he is moving to a new location. "I ran into a little trouble. But don't worry – trouble is my business."
He hands over alternative contact details and tries to hurry his visitor out of the room, but Serpoy has more questions, wanting to know why they must wait till the 25th. Assassin explains that that is the only time they can know for sure exactly where the target will be. Serpoy protests that on such an occasion security will be drum tight, but Assassin is unconcerned. Serpoy wants to know how he will do it, and Assassin blithely explains that he won't be doing it, since security will be so tight and his face is so well known, no matter what his disguise. He is planning to sub-contract a pair of carefully selected and trained alternate-assassins to carry out the job on his behalf. "I guarantee their success."
Warehouse of Training and Torture. Bodie is facing off against a knife-wielding Macklin, with Doyle cheerleading from the sidelines. "Thought so, you're just like Doyle: reflexes shot to pieces," Macklin taunts, slicing Bodie's shirt and drawing blood. I'm fairly certain this particular training technique would not make it past health and safety regulations today.
"Hey, mind the shirt, he borrowed it from me," Doyle heckles, while Bodie curses.
Macklin, impassive, expresses pleasure at seeing a little bit of hate. Looks more like anger to me, but we can go with hate if he wants to. "Not enough hate, too much of the other, eh, Bodie?"
"Even Cowley doesn't want us cut to pieces!" Bodie protests, taking another slice, on the arm this time, and retreating behind a hanging tyre in the centre of the room. Doyle continues to cheerlead.
"Cowley doesn't want you dead, either, bloody fools," says the man wielding the knife. "This isn't a game."
"Not with a knife in your hand, it's not," agrees a slightly sullen Doyle, lounging attractively against the door in a very fetching bright red singlet.
Macklin promptly throws the knife at Doyle, and it jams into the door right alongside his shoulder. Nice aim. Doyle glowers and pulls the knife back out of the door, accepting his cue to return to action. "Your play, Doyle."
It's Bodie's turn to cheerlead, nursing his sore arm. Doyle faces off against Macklin, knife in hand, but in a matter of seconds he's been disarmed and dropped to the ground, with a couple of hefty kicks to the ribs for good measure. CI5 training at its finest. Bodie hauls him back to his feet, and the two of them huddle together defensively, casting wary glances at their tormenter.
"Towser. Don't break any bones, but just take them apart," Macklin orders. "Then we can start putting them together again."
Hotel. A little old man doing the cleaning discovers the body of the chambermaid, stuffed into the closet. That's not a very stealthy method of corpse disposal.
Assassin pays a visit to a small garage near the White Lion. 'Coney's Specialist Tuning and Repairs'. As his car pulls up outside, a hand snakes out from beneath the car currently being worked on, swapping a spanner for a gun wrapped in a rag. So this is the kind of establishment where trouble is always expected, then. The mechanic greets his visitor in an offhand manner, and is addressed as 'Frank Coney'. It's always nice to be given the names of guest characters upfront like this.
Assassin drops a bundle of money where the mechanic can see it. Then as Frank slides himself out from under the car, Assassin swiftly slides over it, with the result that they each end up in defensible position holding guns on one another. "You're good," Assassin approves. "Very good indeed. But not quite good enough. Not yet. However, we have a few days, we can alter that."
He's a very arrogant man, it must be said. He reproachfully chides Frank for his suspicion, pointing at the £500 he just dropped as testimony in his favour. They each lower their weapons as Frank picks up the money.
"You're not a fisherman, then?" says Frank, suspiciously. "Nice fat worm. Big plump fly. Just what the fish has been dreaming about all week. He takes it. Suddenly he's dead, surrounded with chips." He aims his gun at Assassin again, and thus Assassin, who has disarmed, suddenly finds himself at a disadvantage.
Unperturbed, he admires Frank's 'animal caution', saying that he also likes curiosity, and that Frank won't shoot him before he's heard the offer. Frank agrees that he likes a good story, and asks Assassin who he is. "No name," Assassin snaps. "But I come highly recommended. And so do you."
Frank asks for other names then, and they bandy credentials around for a while until they are each satisfied, before moving onto confirmation that Assassin wants Frank to pull a job for him, pay off to be agreed but likely to be substantial.
Now, you wouldn't think a mercenary like Assassin would want to sub-contract and thus reduce his own earnings like this. So it seems to me that he's in this for the challenge of pulling off the perfect assassination, rather than for the money.
Hotel. Cowley has been summoned to the scene of the chambermaid's murder, grumbling about how long it has taken for the report to reach him – any crime, any misdemeanour involving an Arab, and CI5 want to know about it, apparently. Wonder how a directive like that would go down in today's politically correct environment. Not that they are entirely sure there was an Arab involved in this, but the cleaner thinks he might have seen Serpoy earlier. The detective is sent to summon the witness, leaving Cowley alone to poke around the room. Being very much on the ball, he notices the door chain and fastens it, in the spirit of experimentation.
Coney's garage. Frank fixes drinks for himself and his visitor, asking for more details about the job. Assassin is tight lipped, and Frank realises that means the job is Big. Frank wonders if he will end up dead, and Assassin admits that it is possible. "You're the master of the hard sell, aren't you?" Frank snarks. Assassin calmly says that the risks will become apparent sooner or later, so why not sooner. Frank appreciates his candour. "It's a kill job, then…with a Ferrari at the end of it that I may not get to drive."
Assassin tells him that it is a two-man job, for safety. "I understand you already have a partner."
"No partner," Frank sharply insists. "Get yourself a partner and you might end up –"
"You start worrying about him, and you both end up dead," Assassin finishes for him.
Hotel. The detective returns with the Old Man, and the chain – as with the chambermaid earlier – simply falls loose, rather than denying them entrance. Cowley questions the Old Man about what he thinks he might have seen, and the man who rented the room. "He didn't register, it's that kind of hotel," Detective unhelpfully observes.
Cowley shows Old Man a few happy snaps of suspects until he sees one that rings a bell, and then dismisses him, sighs to Detective that the chambermaid was killed because she was a chambermaid. "She had a pass key. And this chain doesn't work." She saw something she wasn't supposed to see, so he killed her, Cowley surmises. "And God preserve us if it was this man." And that's nicely ominous, for the picture is indeed Assassin, all bearded up in disguise.
Warehouse of Training and Torture. Bodie and Doyle are feeling the strain, catching their breath on the floor while Towser moves things around behind them.
"Doyle?" Bodie gasps. "You know the irony of it? You know that form we sign where it says occupation, you know what I put?"
"Punchbag," guesses Doyle, deadpan.
Bodie laughs, or at least tries to, between wheezes. "Civil servant," he says, and Doyle also has to laugh. "Birds think I drink tea and push pens."
"Well, you can always resign," Doyle cheerfully points out.
"No," Bodie puffs. "That's what Cowley wants, he wants us to resign."
"What for?" Doyle questions this hypothesis.
"You think of any other reason?" asks Bodie, reasonably enough under the circumstances.
"No!" Doyle can't come up with anything off the top of his head, and then Towser comes at them with a weapon once more, prompting both to roll aside as fast as they can. Heh.
Coney's Garage. Frank frets that his non-partner is late, but Assassin is unruffled, optimistically hoping it means the non-partner is looking the place over first. As all good would-be assassins should, of course. Frank points out that he was the one who called his non-partner, meaning of course that the man should trust him and therefore be unconcerned. Assassin points out that he could have had a gun to his head when he made the call. What kind of life do these guys lead that a simple phone call would engender such suspicions? Or was the wording of the call that dodgy? Frank takes the point, and then sings his non-partner's praise, calling him 'the best there is'. He sounds nervous. He also sounds like a man talking about a close friend and partner, rather than a mere business associate he isn't going to worry about in the heat of a job. Assassin is looking for the best, so he's glad to hear this.
"Joe's canny," Frank waffles, apparently being the type that can't shut himself up while fretting. "He's…well, my other half, so to speak. Where I go blundering in, Joe waits. Thinks. Joe and me, well, we're…"
"Partners?" suggests Assassin, looking amused.
Irritated, Frank begins to deny the partners thing again, but Assassin shushes him, having heard a noise. "Don't be surprised when you see him," Frank cautions. "He's on the small side, but don't mention it. Gets up his nose." Assassin is more concerned about the fact that Joe seems to be coming to the door after checking the place out, which would make him a perfect target and thus rule him out of the job, meaning Frank would have to find himself a new partner. Frank is stung. "I told you, he's not my partner. We just work together, that's all. And small or not, he's a better –"
A light comes on behind them. Assassin whirls around and drops to a new hiding place, having been caught by surprise, as the as yet unseen Joe calls out to ask if Frank is all right. "Told you," Frank crows. "Back way and we didn't even hear him. Ten out of ten."
"Nine out of ten," Assassin sniffs, guessing that Joe will be one foot above the torch beam.
"Wouldn't do you any good," Joe tells him, concealed in a different location altogether, and holding a gun on his would-be employer. Frank is triumphant, and Assassin coolly expresses his pleasure at meeting Joe. Who isn't Frank's partner, of course not.
Warehouse of Training and Torture. Doyle protectively wraps a blanket around himself as he wanders over to watch Towser cooking eggs. He then joins Bodie at a table nearby.
"Don't say anything," Bodie hoarsely croaks, already shovelling his own plateful of eggs into his mouth. "It's a dream."
"Eh?" says Doyle.
"He's stopped hitting us," Bodie clarifies. "It's nice, isn't it?"
I love their attitude to this intense training they are being put through, grumbling about the harshness of it with such good humour and snark. It's a necessary evil that they are never going to enjoy but do have to get through, and they are in it together.
"D'you think that means we've passed?" Doyle wonders, getting all hopeful that the ordeal might be over at last. Macklin arrives at this point, and Doyle gestures to the table. "What's this, a traditional last hearty breakfast?"
"You're hurt, both of you," says Macklin, far too cheerfully. "You're battered and bruised, and you hurt."
"He's psychic," Bodie loudly whispers in an aside to Doyle. Heh.
"So now you stop getting hurt –" Macklin begins.
Doyle interrupts. "You mean we can go home?"
"I mean you stop getting hurt because I teach you how to stop getting hurt," Macklin dryly explains. Bodie and Doyle both groan, because they know what that means – more of the same. Macklin continues that he knows they've both been through it all before, acknowledging that they are good – adequate, anyway. But not good enough. "Towser, he's just a pushover."
"I wish you'd tell him that," mutters Bodie.
Macklin points out that they've already met better and bigger. And will meet even better in the future. "But you're rusty. And Cowley doesn't want you rusty, he wants you fit. He wants you honed to a fine edge. Razor-sharp."
And what's really hilarious about this little speech is that while Macklin is delivering it, Bodie is just blinking at him, half asleep, heard it all before and too tired and sore to care, while Doyle gleefully seizes upon his eggs when Towser gives them to him, and digs in with hungry appetite, not listening to a word Macklin is saying. Until Macklin asks if he's enjoying the eggs.
Doyle drops his fork in exasperation. "The eggs are poisoned." Hee.
Macklin continues to ignore the heckling and expounds about eggs being full of protein and energy, which they need plenty of. "A ten mile run," he happily announces.
"You mean a ten mile jog," Bodie foolishly rebuffs. "Don't you?"
"We-ell, yes," Macklin allows, a glint in his eye. "You jog the first ten miles…"
Doyle's head drops onto Bodie's shoulder in helpless despair. Viewers snicker.
Coney's garage. Frank and Joe are puffing their way through a set of sit-ups when Serpoy pulls up outside. Assassin smoothly suggests that they take a walk. They pass Serpoy on their way out, and now that we see them standing side-by-side, Joe doesn't seem as short as all that – shorter than Frank, yes, but nothing to write home about.
Frank and Joe wander off, banished from Frank's own garage. Inside, Serpoy smugly informs Assassin that the location has been agreed, and hands over a thick brown envelope, presumably detailing this location.
Streets of London. Bodie and Doyle run hard, looking all hot and sweaty, and paced by Towser on a motorbike. They pass the White Lion.
Inside the White Lion, Frank and Joe discuss the mystery job they've been hired for. Frank is fretting that they don't even know what the job is yet. Joe is confident that they will know in time, and is content to wait until then. "You never look at anything but page three and the sports, do you?" he chuckles. "I recognised him right away, even though he's tricked his face up a bit. That identikit was close. The big one in Vienna, and before that in Berlin. Sweet, both of them. And he didn't lose a man."
Joe seems more excited about being handpicked by Assassin than he is the pay-off for the job. I suppose it's some kind of ultimate respect, recognition of their criminal prowess. Frank is finally on the same page, and now has a new reason to fret. "Bit of a leap for us, Joe." I thought Joe was the one who thought things through and Frank the one who just leapt in? Not on this evidence. Frank so far strikes me as something of a worrier.
"The risk's the same, always the same," Joe reassures him. "But this time the money's different."
Coney's Garage. Assassin is not happy about the location that has been chosen and where the hit must be carried out. Still, assassins can't be choosers – or can they? Turns out there is an alternative location, and Serpoy has the plans for that, as well, since his President foolishly trusts him implicitly even though the British don't. Assassin declares this second venue to be far more suitable for his purposes, makes enquiries about security – which would be ramped up to the highest level only the day before the ceremony – and decides that they will have to get the whole shebang switched to this alternate location. Serpoy really isn't on the ball and so fails to see where this is could be going, arguing that any overt attack could cause the entire ceremony to be called off. Assassin snips that he intends to be rather more subtle than that. Serpoy then nervously begins that he will be at the ceremony too, and Assassin calmly assures him that they are being paid for only one hit and that he shouldn't worry. Serpoy tells him that the whole Ben Massah movement is relying on him, like he really expects that to matter to a professional assassin who is in this for the money and the challenge and nothing else. Assassin ponders his next move.
Warehouse of Training and Torture. Macklin and Towser greet Cowley as he arrives. "Come to view the remains?" Macklin cheerfully enquires.
"I sincerely hope not," is Cowley's brisk reply, wondering how the Lads are shaping up.
"Oh, they'll do," is Macklin's less than heartening response. "In fact, they're the best you've got."
"They're the best?" That is not an especially comforting thought for Cowley as he enters the warehouse to find Bodie and Doyle collapsed in a heap on the floor. They scramble into more-or-less upright positions when they see their Controller, and wonder if this means they are going back to duty. Far better to be shot at by international terrorists than endure any more training!
Cowley sends Macklin – whose first name, we learn, is Brian – and Towser outside so he can talk to the Lads in confidence. They close the door after them, so Cowley has only his own trust in their reliability to be sure that they aren't eavesdropping on this top security briefing.
"This isn't an empty exercise," Cowley begins.
"Told you, Doyle," Bodie wearily snarks. "We're being sponsored by Oxfam to destruction!"
"I offer the best, and that's what I intend to provide: the very best," Cowley explains, with the light of true fervour in his eyes. This is what drives him, the chess-like challenge of carrying out an enormously difficult job to the very best of his, and his agents', ability. Of outwitting men like Assassin. And Assassin, in turn, thrives on the challenge of trying to outwit men like Cowley. This episode is all about parallelism.
Having established that this intense training has been all about getting the Lads to the peak of physical fitness, Cowley goes on to reveal that this next job is the Big One. "President Parsali. Until a moment ago, only 23 people knew. Now it's 25."
Or possibly 27, if Macklin and Towser are nosing at the door.
Bodie wonders what it is they are supposed to know from that name, but Doyle is a step ahead and realises this is about a treaty, because Doyle is the Joe of this partnership and pays attention to the news. Just what this treaty is all about is never really revealed, but clearly it is something pretty huge, and it is to be signed in England the following Tuesday.
"And there's a whisper of a kill," says Cowley, still with that glint in his eyes. He really does relish a challenge like this, playing for such high stakes. He goes on that with someone as controversial as Parsali there is always a whisper of a kill, but they have to take it seriously. "He's our pigeon; we're providing cover. Such cover that the only kill that might have a hope would have to be a close kill."
"Kamikaze kill?" Bodie wonders.
Cowley admits it's possible. Minimal disclosure is at the heart of the security operation, but Bodie and Doyle are now part of the need to know crew, because this is the job they've been training for so intensively: to keep Parsali alive.
And honestly, they both look too completely knackered to give two hoots.
Coney's Garage. Frank and Joe return to find Assassin heaving a bunch of crates and gas canisters into position to form a mock up of a staircase. Why on earth Frank would have that much junk rattling around his garage I have no idea. Without any further ado, Assassin informs them that President Parsali is the man they are being paid to kill.
Warehouse of Training and Torture. Cowley hands Bodie and Doyle ground plans for both venues – the first choice and the backup. No addresses, because of that minimal information thing. Their first task is to study the plans in minute detail. "The very best. I'm relying on you."
Aww. Cowley isn't much of a one for pep, but he does come out with these terse little remarks every now and then to indicate how highly he thinks of his men.
Coney's Garage. Assassin talks his plans through with Frank and Joe, using his mock up of venue two as a visual aid. Frank is to make the hit from the half landing of the staircase, with Joe providing covering fire from the landing above. "Your job is to take out the bodyguards. You'll know them because they will be like yourselves: thoroughbreds, nervous, on the balls of their feet, spoiling for a fight. But you will have the advantage of surprise, say, uh, two seconds. Use them well. Hit, and hit hard." In the panic of the assassination, he goes on, the bodyguards will be the only ones paying attention to the assassins, so Frank and Joe must take them out, or they are finished.
Frank and Joe versus Bodie and Doyle: the mixed doubles of the episode title, and principle parallel of the story.
Warehouse of Training and Torture. Macklin demonstrates his marksmanship by bullseyeing every target. Impressed, Doyle and Bodie snark that he doesn't really need them, would be great on his own. So Macklin sends the ever silent Towser off to make coffee and then regales them with the story of his own former life as an active agent. "I used to be good. Then I got myself gutshot in Hong Kong. They broke my pelvis and both my arms, and heaved me into the Bay. The Service flew me back – tourist class, of course. They didn't want to pamper me. And then just like Humpty Dumpty they stuck me back together again, as good as new – but the cracks still show. My nerves were shot to hell. I can't face a target that shoots back at me any more. And that's why I drive you so hard. Because it shouldn't have happened in the first place: I was below par, out of shape, vaulting a twelve foot fence with a ten foot pole. So don't do as I do, do as I say and stay in one piece."
So how's that for a cautionary tale? He then slides without pause into a discussion on the ammunition they will be using…
…which leads us into the parallel conversation over at Coney's Garage. Assassin informs his sub-contractors that they will be using dum-dum shells, which fragment and spread on impact. Joe frowns. "That's a hell of a dirty thing," he mildly objects. Assassin snips that if he isn't up for it… Joe snaps back that he didn't say he wasn't up for it, just that it was dirty, then relaxes and grins. "Well, just another way of killing."
Warehouse. Alone at last, Bodie and Doyle ponder their new mission. Bodie wonders again about a kamikaze kill, and Doyle comes up with an example: a mad Chinese bloke with a hatchet the previous year, who needed ten agents to bring him down. "Yet one soft nose would've stopped him flat," Bodie muses, eyeing his gun appraisingly, and suggesting that on Tuesday they might need to doctor their ammunition if that's what they are going to be dealing with. When Doyle pointedly asks if he's talking about dum-dums he starts to answer in the affirmative, and then realises his partner is projecting moral scruples and crumples his face in exasperated dismay. "Oh, you're not going to give us that one man Geneva Convention bit, are you?"
"No, I've seen what they can do," says Doyle.
"Yeah, stops 'em dead," protests Bodie, clearly seeing this as the main consideration. "And I mean dead. No objection to dead, have you? 'Cause next Tuesday I don't want to be standing alongside you while you make your decision."
"Not dead," Doyle objects. "It's dum-dum."
"Dead or dum-dum, what's the difference? It's them or us," Bodie snips, the easy-going, in-this-together banter of earlier now replaced by tense disagreement.
"I didn't come into this mob to use dum-dums," Doyle flatly insists.
And you've got to appreciate the way that the two sets of partners are paralleled as much by their differences as their similarities, as demonstrated by Doyle and Joe's differing attitude toward dum-dums: both disapprove, but while the one quickly gets over it and accepts their use, the other stands his moral ground.
House in the Country. Assassin takes a few happy snaps of security agents on guard.
Coney's Garage. Assassin shows his photographs to Frank and Joe, and lectures them further on what to expect on the day of the signing. Assassination plans are discussed – Joe asking questions while Frank just sits back and listens. Until Assassin finishes his explanation of the plan, which is when Frank finally speaks up to raise an excellent point: if the place will be swarming with security, how are they to get in? Assassin grins and asks if they've heard of the wooden horse of Troy.
Warehouse of Training and Torture. Macklin zooms up on a motorbike, closely followed by a sprinting Bodie and Doyle, who demonstrate their peak of fitness by bursting through the door and scaring the living daylights out of Towser, who was enjoying a nice quiet cuppa while they were out. He finally breaks his silence, yelling his shock.
Coney's Garage. Frank and Joe practice their hit. Joe wonders how Assassin intends to get the venue shifted from the first to second choice. "With subtlety," smirks Assassin, admiring his own cleverness. He hushes the other two as a car pulls up outside. It's Serpoy, who has been summoned for a meeting. Assassin promptly knocks him down and sets about tying him up, and the idiot – still conscious – never once thinks to try yelling for help. Seeing Frank and Joe gaping at him, Assassin snarls that this is necessary, but they don't have to watch. Slightly disturbed, they leave him to it.
White Lion Pub. Frank and Joe gaze out of the window and chat about what they might do with their earnings when this job is over. Frank drools over the mental image of girls in the Bahamas, while Joe jokes that the pygmies of New Guinea might be more his size. He isn't that short!
Bodie and Doyle pull up outside the pub. Well, with Coney's Garage and the Warehouse of Training and Torture both being somewhere in the immediate vicinity, it was bound to happen sooner or later, that all four would be there at the same time. Seeing our Lads getting out of the car, Joe starts to get philosophical about people who lead normal lives with normal jobs, since that's what he assumes these two average looking guys have. "Butcher, baker, candlestick maker. Normal. Nine till five, and lunch on the company." Oh, if only he knew. And also – he's describing the exact kind of life he could have himself, if he actually wanted. He chose to be a criminal and assassin; no one forced him. Frank cuts short his daydreaming with a more practical suggestion of another drink.
Frank heads to the bar. On the other side of a pillar, Bodie and Doyle also arrive at the bar, and are served first, the barmaid asking what she can do for them.
Bodie: "Oh, if I told you."
Barmaid: "You'd be chucked out on your ear."
Bodie [to Doyle]: "Let's find some original dialogue, mate."
The barmaid gets shirty, and Doyle pacifies her by means of placing an actual order, as opposed to Bodie's attempt at flirting. Bodie objects to Doyle having asked for two halves, rather than two pints…only for Doyle to chirpily point out that this way they get two bites at the cherry. Men. *G* "All that training's sharpened you up, hasn't it," Bodie approves.
The barmaid drops a glass and bends to pick up the pieces. Bodie promptly dives forward to get a better view of her breasts. So does Frank, who has been hidden on the other side of the partition until now, and the two men – so alike, and yet so different – smirk at one another in mutual appreciation of the barmaid's charms and recognition of a kindred spirit.
A gang of young revheads wander in, and it has to be said that for a show all about crime-fighting, louts like this are almost always really badly portrayed. The bad behaviour is really badly acted, but nevertheless instantly inspires the wrath of the short-tempered barmaid, who chucks them out quick smart before turning her attention back to her paying customers. "You see," Bodie teasingly suaves. "You really ought to encourage the better class of customer."
Outside, the thwarted revheads start smashing up the local scenery, including Bodie's car, for no apparent reason other than they feel like it. Outraged, Bodie dashes out to save his beloved car – CI5 won't stump up for repairs if the damage wasn't incurred in the line of duty, I daresay – followed closely by Doyle. Fighting ensues.
Frank and Joe wander out to watch the show and offer commentary on the foolhardiness of getting into a situation like this without even being paid for it. Then one of the revheads pulls a knife on Bodie, and Frank promptly wades in to the action in defence of this stranger. Well, he said he was the impulsive one. "Fight's a fight, but he was going to kill you," he modestly brushes off his intervention, shaking Bodie's hand, having helped save the day.
So, the opposing teams have now met and established common ground – half of each, anyway – if only they knew it.
Coney's Garage. Assassin bundles the tightly bound body of Serpoy into the boot of his car.
Warehouse of Training and Torture. Cowley is hanging around waiting and watch-watching when Bodie and Doyle return. Doyle is lounging most attractively in the passenger seat with a foot sticking out through the missing windshield. I love it. When Cowley asks where they've been, Bodie cheerfully replies that they've been putting their training to good use, and Cowley knows better than to enquire any further. In fact, he ignores the reply completely, giving the impression that he was only asking to express disapproval of their lateness rather than actually wanting to know. The Lads jump into his car, to be taken to the two venues – they need to thoroughly familiarise themselves with both.
Coney's Garage. Frank and Joe have just finished packing their bags when Assassin returns. They are ready to go; Assassin decides that first they will run through the simulation one last time. Practice makes perfect, after all.
Venue One. It's rather grand. Cowley, Bodie and Doyle arrive and start looking the place over.
Coney's Garage. Frank and Joe run through their assassination simulation. Assassin tells them to do it again.
Venue One. Bodie proclaims it a fortress. Cowley wonders if he could find his way around in the dark. "Just about," he says, and Doyle pulls a fabulous face at him, which – like in the last episode – smacks of a joke between the actors more than of acting, but works equally well as a joke between the partners. Cowley tells them to go over the place again.
Coney's Garage. Frank complains that Assassin is making them tired. Assassin counters that he is making them efficient. "I'm keeping you alive."
Venue Two. Bodie decides he's seen all he needs. "In ten minutes?" Cowley disbelieves. Bodie feels that since this is only the standby, there is no need for closer inspection – they spent an hour at the real one. "Every eventuality, Bodie," Cowley dryly tells him, and starts quizzing the partners about the building. They seem to have the place pretty much sussed out, even after only ten minutes (plus intensive studying of the plans earlier).
And then the camera cuts back and forth between Coney's Garage and Venue Two to show the two sets of partners being put through their paces by their respective controllers. It's a nifty directorial touch that works well for this story.
Venue Two. Assassin pulls up nearby, but not so close as to attract attention. "I will be here again tomorrow. I will be here for exactly sixty seconds after I hear the first shot," he says by way of goodbye and good luck to Frank and Joe. "After that, I will not be waiting."
"After that, there wouldn't be much point, would there," Frank admits, whereupon Assassin does actually wish his sub-contractors luck before driving away and leaving them to execute the plan. Or not.
Frank and Joe head for the house, neatly disabling the electric fence and picking locks with impunity. They nearly have a sticky moment when one of the security guards wanders past and almost catches them in the act, but manage to hide in time, and the guard – not expecting any trouble – fails to notice the lock picks they've left hanging out of the door. They are soon inside, and steal a quick look at the scene of their planned assassination attempt, before sneaking up to the attic with their overnight bags to wait for the crowds to descend for the treaty signing.
I hope they didn't pack anything they are especially fond of, or that could be traced to them, since they are hardly going to have time to retrieve their belongings before hotfooting it away post-assassination.
Random Railway Arch. Assassin dumps Serpoy's corpse, and makes a hasty exit.
Later. It actually looks bright enough to be the following morning, but it is clearly meant to be later the same day, so whatever. Cowley identifies the corpse of Ahmed Serpoy, personal aide to President Parsali. "Tortured before they shot him." Nasty. Poor naïve fella, so easily reassured that Assassin wouldn't kill him simply because he wasn't being paid to do so. Bodie wonders if Serpoy talked. "Well, of course he talked," says Cowley. "Wouldn't anyone? Wouldn't you, if they did that to you?"
Doyle wonders what Serpoy would have told his attackers, and Cowley amends that question to 'what could he have told them?' As far as Cowley knows, Serpoy knew only the details of Venue One. See, this is where minimal information gets you – Cowley doesn't know that Parsali confided further in his aide, and doesn't think to ask. So, the treaty signing is switched to Venue Two.
Venue Two. Assassin lurks in the fields nearby, watching a full-scale security operation swing into force, and smirks at the success of his murderous plan.
Attic. Frank and Joe hear the sounds of occupation elsewhere in the building and realise that Assassin's plan has worked – they are on.
Downstairs. Expensive looking security equipment is moved into place. The inconspicuous little trapdoor leading into Frank and Joe's attic hideout is completely overlooked. Why would anyone be up there?
Bodie and Doyle arrive, their entry setting off a monitor on the door. "I always knew you lads would turn out to be useful one of these days," snarks the technician monitoring it. "Works perfectly."
"But can it fight?" Bodie deadpans back at him.
"No, but it can tell you just where to go to get your head blown off," Technician cheerfully tells him. There's a beam on every door and window, he explains. Nobody can get in or out without the alarm knowing about it. Shame about the wannabe assassins already being inside, then.
"Course, the guys we're up against used to be miners, you know. Tunnelling," Doyle remarks in a conversational tone, winding Technician up with marvellous ease. Hee. I love it when relationships with random extra CI5 flunkies are established like this.
Technician has had enough of the conversation already and wanders off. I daresay that fancy alarm is no good if there's no one monitoring it. Anyway, he leaves the Lads alone to ponder the fact that this is where it's all going to happen.
Attic. Frank and Joe play cards to pass the time.
Hallway. Bodie lounges sleepily in his sleeping bag, while Doyle sits cross-legged alongside him, cleaning the guns. I get why Frank and Joe are camping out on the property, but why do Bodie and Doyle have to stay the night, roughing it like this? They clearly aren't guarding the place overnight, since they are bedding down rather than on duty, and will need to be at their absolute best in the morning, so why not send them home for a good night's sleep in their own beds?
"Wish I'd seen Claire last week," Doyle remarks, apropos of nothing, informing us in the process that his latest squeeze-of-the-week is a girl called Claire. "She drew nights at the hospital last week. Didn't see her."
Ooh, so this unseen latest girlfriend not only has a name, but an occupation. And for Doyle to be bemoaning not seeing her last week, they must have been dating for some time prior to that. Squeeze-of-the-month, then, rather than week. Nice though it is that there is nothing remotely soap opera-ish about the show, it would be so nice to see more of this side of things, the difficulty balancing such a demanding job with anything resembling a social life. Especially if the girlfriend of the moment has an equally demanding job, working shifts at a hospital – it's easy to imagine how difficult it might get, trying to find time to see one another.
Half asleep and determinedly playing dumb, Bodie murmurs that if Claire drew nights last week, they'll be all right this week. What's he worried about? Doyle promptly clarifies that he isn't worried, just commenting that he didn't see her. "There are things I wish I'd said to her."
That implies that he's been seeing this girl long enough to be at least partly serious about her, which again makes me wish the show had been willing to go down the road of establishing girlfriends for the Lads who were both seen on-screen and lasted longer than one episode, because it would add more weight to scenes like this if we actually knew who he was talking about and had seen them together – and then later got to see it all fall apart anyway.
"Oh, cut it out, will you," Bodie grumbles from beneath the arm he's got flung across his face.
It's Doyle's turn to play dumb and pretend not to realise what this is really about.
"I know what you said. Bad medicine," Bodie tells him, rolling onto his side with the air of a man who really, really wishes he were asleep already. "Next thing you'll be asking me if I've made a will."
There's a pause. Doyle doesn't look up from the gun he's cleaning. Then: "Have you?" he casually asks. Bodie snorts and tries to pull his sleeping bag over his head. "I was just interested, that's all," Doyle defends.
"Course I've made a will," says Bodie. "Done all my letters, too. First thing you do in the mob, isn't it? Get your affairs straight."
Attic. "I wanted something better," Joe is telling Frank. "Better than me mum and dad. Better than I could see ahead of me." Frank remarks that he had the schooling, but Joe counters that it's a 'now' society. "I want it now. Now, 'cause I'm still young, and you're a long time dead."
Such a selfish attitude. Joe is meant to be the Doyle-type in this partnership, but his attitude here really doesn't appeal to me at all. He's the Doyle-type, but the opposite – what Doyle could have become in a different life, if he'd made different choices, followed a different path, perhaps.
Hallway. "You believe that?" Doyle wonders, now sacked out in his sleeping bag having given up on the weapons maintenance for the night. "No afterlife, just –?"
"Yeah, don't you?" Bodie blithely wonders, rather more awake now that he's been drawn into conversation. "You were a cop, you don't accept anything without proof, for God's sake!"
Doyle looks at him quizzically. "'For God's sake'?"
Bodie rolls his eyes and chuckles. "Figure of speech. No, I believe in me, mate. 'Cause I was born tall, dark and beautiful…and engagingly modest, of course."
ROFL! The way he's laughing at himself as he says it, and Doyle laughs with him, is what makes this little snippet of conversation so fabulous. The two of them should always be like this. There's just so much unspoken affection here.
Attic. "Just got dealt the wrong cards, that's all," Joe morosely mutters, staring into his mug of cocoa, or whatever else was in that thermos they've brought with them. "Wrong town. Wrong street. Wrong time. Wrong bloody everything."
Man, he really is bitter, isn't he? Frank said he had the schooling, so he clearly could have made more of himself if he'd wanted to, if he hadn't opted instead for the easy road offered by crime.
Hallway. Doyle and Bodie seem to have given up on sleep for the time being, and are sipping tea or cocoa or whatever out of their own thermos. Proper little slumber parties, these.
"I was a right tearaway, I was," Doyle wryly chuckles, all nostalgic. "I cut up another kid and I was just a kid myself."
Bodie is a little surprised by this revelation.
"Well, streets where I grew up there was a kid like Macklin on every corner." Doyle attempts to explain his misspent youth. "And I got away with it, every time. Never got caught."
Attic. Frank tries to soothe his non-partner, pointing out that he's doing all right now. Joe is having none of it. "Haven't got any taller, have I?" he whinges. Height is such a petty thing to be so bitter about. "That's what they kept promising me," he goes on. "When you grow up. I know I'm small, I've lived with it all my life. It's a hell of a thing, Frank, to be 'Shorty' all your life. No matter how it's said. Shorty."
Yeah, but lack of height only ruins your life if you let it. Joe is an idiot. I feel no pity for him at all.
Hallway. "So, I joined the Force, got some discipline." Doyle continues his little origin tale.
"Oh, that's what you call it, is it?" Bodie smirks, amused.
I love the different attitudes of the Lads here, because Bodie is so light-hearted and chirpy where Doyle is quiet and contemplative, but both are taking the conversation seriously. This could be their last night of life, and they are spending it together, talking about things that matter to them, each accepting and understanding the other's attitude as his own individual way of dealing with the situation they are facing.
"Oh, don't knock it, it's better than nothing," says Doyle. "Glad to get out of it, though, glad to join this mob."
"You must be joking," Bodie snorts.
"No, I'm not," Doyle tells him. Doyle tends toward idealism, and he thinks too much at times. "The line was getting too narrow – what I was doing…no difference between what I was doing and what the villains were doing. In the blue corner right, in the red corner wrong… How 'bout you?"
Attic. "Excitement," says Frank, frankly.
Hallway. "Money," says Bodie.
"Is that all?" wonders Doyle.
"It's enough, isn't it? It's enough for me, anyway," says Bodie, evidently not inclined to get into any deep and meaningfuls about his own murky past, however much he might have appreciated Doyle's confidence.
"No, you've got to have another reason," Doyle insists, ever the thinker. "You've got to have a better reason than that."
Bodie just starts laughing at him, endlessly entertained by Doyle's propensity for over-thinking.
Attic. "A short life and a happy one," Frank continues, no more inclined toward over-thinking than Bodie is. "Least this way, Joe, I know I'm alive."
"Until you're dead," says Joe, still in a decidedly downbeat mood.
Hallway. "Then it's off to the pearly gates." Bodie expounds on his hedonist theory of life. "And then paradise…. Or maybe not." He smirks, finishing his cuppa and settling back down to sleep.
"Eh?" mumbles Doyle from within the depths of his sleeping bag.
"You never thought of that, did you?" Bodie chuckles. He's in an absolutely irrepressible mood tonight. Doyle enquires further, still from within the depths of his sleeping bag, and Bodie elaborates. "You know Cowley punches the Bible. Reads the Lesson. Well, he's not even on standby, mate. He's got a fully paid-up reserved ticket. He'll be up there with you. Where's your paradise now, eh? Luckily, I'm going the other way."
LOL! This episode is totally worth watching just for this campout scene alone.
Morning. Doyle sits out in the grounds, shaving with his trusty electric razor. The camera pulls back to reveal a handgun levelled at him…the gun is cocked and Doyle hears the sound, draws his own instantly…it's only Cowley. Check out how amused he is about sneaking up on his agent and getting that reaction. Got to love the Cow in moments like this. "Not bad. Not bad at all," he grudgingly concedes, not being one to spoil his men by over-praising them.
"Shouldn't do that, sir, not on a day like this," says Doyle, not amused, and the two of them agree that this is a day to be edgy. Doyle is looking decidedly spiffy, it has to be said. The sunnies and that light-coloured suit are fantastic.
Inside, Bodie is guarding the alarm monitor, and leaps up, gun in hand, when he hears Cowley and Doyle enter. Cowley notes that the edginess is catching, and wonders why the alarm didn't go off when they came in. Bodie admits that he switched it off, although he doesn't say why, and points out that they know who's coming through the door. It's the unexpected arrivals the alarm needs to be alerting them to, although I can quite see that with random people coming and going to get the place set up, the alarm would probably start to drive them all mad after a while.
Cowley then runs through the arrangements for transporting President Parsali to the venue. While he talks, notice how gloomy Bodie looks at the thought of how long they still have to wait to get this over with.
"Once he's on British soil he's our responsibility – yours," Cowley firmly instructs his men. "And I'm not one for pep talks, but there's two weeks leave coming to you when this is over."
Aww. For Cowley, that's practically a declaration of love!
"Two weeks," says Bodie once Cowley has gone.
"Think he knows something we don't?" wonders Doyle.
Heh. They think so too.
Bodie moves to stand facing his partner, looking him right in the eye. "You scared?" he asks in as offhand a tone as he can manage, still playing it cool.
Doyle nods. "Yeah. You?"
"Yeah," Bodie admits. "All the time."
Marvellous, marvellous. This last third of the episode is absolute gold for anyone who likes to study character dynamics, seeing how these two very different characters react to this situation and relate to one another through it.
Attic. Frank and Joe don their Sunday best in preparation for the hit. I hope all the other clothes and stuff they brought with them are things they don't mind losing, since they will have to be left behind. And a swig of whisky for good luck – never attempt an assassination with a clear head!
Downstairs. Bodie and Doyle prepare for the imminent treaty signing, arming up and making sure their weapons are as easily and readily accessible as humanly possible.
More cutting back and forth between the two sets of partners as they get ready, waxing shoulder holsters and making sure they sit just right, Bodie giving up on his and stuffing the gun into his waistband instead, checking that they remembered to pack spare shells, and so on.
Later. The house has filled up and there are people milling all around the reception area where the treaty is to be signed. Must be such a nuisance for bodyguard types, having so many people around making it harder for them to do their jobs.
President Parsali – we never do find out just where he is meant to be president of, or what this treaty is actually all about – arrives by helicopter. Outside, Bodie and Doyle stand around attractively as they watch it land. Inside, Cowley scurries to a window to watch.
Up in the attic, Frank and Joe look at one another as they hear the helicopter land, and know that it is almost time for action. There's a nice sense now of the episode building up to its crescendo. Joe sits and stares at the open barrel of his gun, with its dum-dum shells. I don't really like Joe's bitter and self-pitying attitude, but I do appreciate morally ambiguous bad guys who have more than two dimensions to their characters. Frank leans over and closes the gun. "They're going to die, whatever we hit them with," he softly tells his non-partner.
Downstairs. President Parsali is led into the reception room, surrounded by lackeys and other diplomatic types, Bodie and Doyle lurking among them, very much on the alert for any kind of threat. Cowley is also close at hand, equally alert. The ultimate responsibility for the security of this event lies with him. This is when he gets to find out how well he's played his hand.
Attic. Frank and Joe check their watches and agree to make their move after the speeches have started.
Downstairs. The speeches begin, and are highly speecharific.
Outside. Assassin pulls up in his bright and conspicuous red car to wait and see if his sub-contractors were worth the hiring price.
Inside. President Parsali is introduced and begins his speech.
Upstairs, Frank and Joe take deep breaths and decide it is time to act. They climb down the little loft ladder and manage to get it folded away back up in the attic remarkably quietly – in my experience those things usually make a dreadful noise.
Downstairs. President Parsali is still talking about the treaty he is about to sign. At the top of the stairs a random security chap is incapacitated and dragged out of sight. In the reception room, the CI5 team continue to quietly stalk around looking for any signs of trouble, Doyle chewing gum furiously, like it's comfort food or something.
Bodie sees a movement on the stairs and looks again. It's Frank. Now, there was a security chap upstairs, so how suspicious it would be to see someone there would depend on how well Bodie knows the other members of the security contingent. As it turns out, he locks eyes with Frank and they recognise one another from their encounter at the pub, each smiling in recognition before realising just what's massively wrong with this picture.
And then all hell breaks loose. Bodie and Frank each dive for their weapons and draw at speed. They both fire. Frank falls back against the wall, and we don't see what happens to Bodie. At the first shot, Cowley dives forward to protect President Parsali. Joe belatedly begins with the covering fire he was meant to be providing, taking out a random diplomatic flunky before the massive table in the reception room is upended to provide shelter for those fortunate enough to be able to cower behind it. Joe exchanges fire with Doyle, and is hit in the shoulder, but isn't so badly wounded that he can't make a run for it, leaping out of a handy nearby window.
Nearby, Assassin is fidgeting while he waits, counting down the seconds since hearing the first gunshot. Joe sprints through the trees, with Doyle and other random security agents in hot pursuit. We still haven't seen Bodie since the first shots were fired, it's worth remembering. Both Doyle and Joe are having to act and react without thought for their partners, falling back on their training in order to get the job done, each in their differing ways.
Assassin gives up and starts driving away just moments before Joe reaches him. Despairing, Joe takes the only revenge he can on the man who got him into this and then abandoned him – he shoots holes in the engine and tyres, causing the car to crash into a nearby tree.
Doyle catches up and yells at Joe to freeze. Reacting on instinct now, what with being wounded and cornered and all, Joe begins to raise his gun, and Doyle fires, killing him dead.
Inside, Bodie stands looking down at Frank's corpse, which has tumbled downstairs. Cowley joins him. "Dum dums," he furiously notes. "The bastards – why'd they have to use dum dums?"
"Maybe it seemed like a good idea at the time," a subdued Bodie quietly suggests.
Outside. Doyle leaves the random other security people to deal with Assassin and his crashed car while he silently walks past Joe's body to crouch at the side of the lake contemplating his weapon – dum dums or normal bullets, the end result is exactly the same.
And that's the end of this charming and contemplative little episode. The final credits name Assassin as Rio, but I didn't catch his name used once during the episode. We never get to find out if there was any kind of internal enquiry conducted to locate the leak that allowed assassins into the venue ahead of the event! But the character work and banter are absolute gold.
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no subject
Date: 2007-08-02 01:12 pm (UTC)One thing tho - I always thought that Towser's reaction at the end of the training was false - his way of joking with the boys - that he was only pretending to be scared when they rushed through the doors.
Wonderful recap as usual!!
no subject
Date: 2007-08-02 01:37 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-08-02 01:56 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-08-02 02:43 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-08-02 02:45 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-08-02 03:00 pm (UTC)Because if the actor had actual LINES they'd have to pay him more...
no subject
Date: 2007-08-02 03:51 pm (UTC)