Bodie crouched low among the thick wet foliage of the jungle and looked at the narrow plank bridge, bound and suspended by twisted vines, and below it the river, swollen by the monsoon, boiling in a white flecked fury. He turned and gripped the girl's brown hand tightly. "Not much further. Just across the other side we're home free. They may have booby-trapped it though. I'll go first." He set off across the swaying bridge, gingerly edging his way forward, examining everything, trusting nothing. Finally he stepped off the bridge and looked back to where the girl waited. "It's OK," he yelled. "Come on." But she too had heard the sounds of pursuit close by and remained for a moment, petrified with fear.
"Run!" Bodie urged, "run!" She had barely taken a couple of steps when the mortar shell hit the bridge. The smoke cleared and Bodie saw her still standing there, on the other side, and the shattered remains of the bridge hanging down into the torrent of water below. The voices of their pursuers were loud and clear now and Bodie stood and looked at the girl and remembered the nights in Kowloon and how he had promised to show her London and Liverpool, and how much he loved her. Then he remembered what they would do to her when they caught her and he lifted the machine carbine to his shoulder. She knew what he had to do, and opened her arms to him one last time. Bodie took careful aim on the centre of her forehead and then gently squeezed the trigger...
He awoke bathed in sweat but shivering violently as he always did. For a moment he didn't know where he was, then he heard the rumble of traffic in the King's Road. He looked at the blonde head of the girl snuggled up in the bed alongside him and he was glad his nightmare hadn't awakened her too. But had it been a nightmare? Hadn't there been some other sound cutting through that all too familiar dream?
The door buzzer sounded again. Bodie swung from the bed and reached for a robe. As he did so the girl stirred and murmured softly. Bodie grinned and, tying the robe around himself, moved to open the door.
Bodie looked at the spare, whip-cord hard young man who stood outside, looked into the clear, sharp eyes, and subtly, instinctively, shifted the position of his feet, poising himself to repel attack.
Doyle thrust a cellophane I.D at Bodie. "Detective Constable Doyle," he managed to say before Bodie slammed the door in his face.