I do not own the Professionals (mores the pity…). The only reward I get for this (in this story's case anyway) is sadistic pleasure, but no money. So please don't sue.

The Schrödinger Problem

Chapter 4: Eternity in an hour

Doyle closed his eyes, slowed his breathing and tried not to panic. There was none of the usual padding you usually found in coffins which made it slightly less claustrophobic.

There was air which had been trapped with him. If he slowed his breathing it would probably last him for 1 to 2 hours at the most. He mustn't panic. He would use the air more quickly

if he did that. He needed to think. Although he had slowed his breathing, his heart wasn't listening and was racing even faster. The one piece of good news was that the coffin lid

was made from pine. That meant it might be possible to break through it. Think, what would Cowley do? Cowley would have known that he and Bodie would have followed him and

wait to be dug up. Then he would complain that they weren't quick or efficient enough, and possibly send them on some sort of course afterwards. No, that didn't help. "Come on,

think!" He told himself. But it was difficult, he was barely keeping his panic at bay, and the box felt as though it was getting smaller and smaller. The noises didn't help either. It was

probably just earth settling, but the noises seem to amplify and the pitch black aided unpleasant imaginations. The Lid was his only option. He had to get through it somehow. The lid

had been nailed into place so possibly he could push it off? With six feet of earth on top he would have to be superman. There was practically no room to manoeuvre. Still if he could

untie himself that might put him in a better position. It was tricky bringing his hands up when the lid was about 2 inches away from his face, but with some careful shifting he

managed it, and started gnawing at the knots with his teeth.

As Bodie drove through the countryside, he couldn't help but look at each farmhouse he passed and wonder whether that was the one. He gripped the steering wheel. Cowley was

right. Searching them all would take years. Ray didn't have that long. Bodie's patience was running thin. Why hadn't Murphy called yet? Where was Cowley? According to Murphy

no-one knew where he was. Murphy was poised with a squad to move in on the gang, when they knew where they were. The local police forces had a presence at the airports too

so they could hold whilst they waited for CI5 to appear. There was nothing else to do but wait. They had checked to see whether Simon or any of the gang owned property or

farmhouses but had come up with a negative so far. If any of them did, they'd used an alias to buy it. Bodie glanced at the RT unit in his car silently pleading for it to call.

Right. Hands free. Feet next. Doyle stared, his eyes wide at the lid above him, not that he could see it in the darkness. He couldn't lift his knees more than a few inches but it was

enough to start working free. His breathing quickened, he gritted his teeth as he tried to get his trembling limbs to obey his instructions. Then he froze, his heart jumped into his

mouth. The lid creaked. The earth was starting to settle. That meant that the lid had some give to it, so he might be able to break through it. But if the lid gave before his legs were

free, he'd had it. Soon his legs were free. He clenched his hand and punched the lid. His fist screamed back at him. He took a deep breath and swallowed the pain. He punched again.

He ignored the pain and continued. He had to break through the lid, push the earth that fell in to the foot of the coffin and push himself out. Hopefully. It wasn't scientific and a dozen

things which could go wrong would end terminally. The lid creaked ominously. Doyle ignored it. He tried again. The lid splintered. The earth rushed in.

A tip-off provided the breakthrough. The gang had been located. They had abandoned plane travel in favour of a passenger ferry to France under assumed names. It was only the

anonymous tip off that prevented them from carrying out their plan. Murphy with his squad raced to the port breaking traffic laws and speed records in the process. The local police

had got there first, and had trapped them in a small empty building in the port. Murphy crouched behind his car gun aimed. He could almost feel the clock ticking. They didn't have time

for a siege. A car roared around the corner. Cowley's car. He got out and quickly crouched beside Murphy.

"Right." Cowley said in a matter-of-fact manor. "We need them out of there as fast as possible."

"We've tried talking to them, but they don't respond." Murphy replied.

"No, he wouldn't." Cowley said. "Get some men as close to the building as possible. When Simon Bartholomew comes out prevent him from going back in. But don't, I repeat DON'T kill

him."

"When he comes out?!" Murphy sounded astonished.

"Just obey my orders." Cowley said. One of the policemen came out to him and offered him a megaphone, which he took. He saw the CI5 agents making their way stealthily towards

the building, none of the gang inside appeared to notice them. Cowley held up the megaphone.

Inside the building, Bartholomew stood by the door. John was staring at him looking scared. Danny glared at John and Gavin just sat there. Bartholomew and Danny had guns, John

has lost his somewhere and Gavin never carried one. Gavin relied on his fists.

"We're surrounded. Why don't we give up?" John pleaded. Danny walked over to him and punched him hard.

"You still thinking about that bloody copper?!" Danny hissed. "He'll be dead by now!"

"Oh no." Said Bartholomew calmly without turning around. "With air he'll last for at least 2 or 3 days." John looked horrified. Even Danny started to frown.

"I thought you said he'd be unconscious within 4 minutes?"

"If the coffin was airtight which it isn't."

"You knew. He was right, you are mad!" John shouted. Bartholomew's gun was at his head before he could even blink.

"Don't call me mad!" he quickly turned back to face the door.

"GIVE YOURSELF UP SIMON!" they heard Cowley's voice from outside. "GIVE YOUSELF UP, IT IS INSANE TO PROLONG THIS." He emphasised the word insane and it had the desired

effect. Bartholomew visibly twitched. Cowley hadn't finished.

"Your whole plan was psychotic! Only a complete madman that crazy plan would work!" Cowley watched the the building anxiously, acutely aware of the time this was taking. He only

hoped his information was correct. Inside, Simon had completely frozen. Then slowly the hand that held the gun started to shake. When he spoke, his voice was completely dead.

"I swear to you. You'll never find Doyle alive."

From outside Cowley and the rest of CI5 listened in horror as three shots rang out. Then a few seconds later there was a forth. They ran to the building, Cowley flung open the door.

Gavin and Danny had been shot in the head. John had evidently dodged and managed to grab Danny's gun just as Simon shot him in the stomach. The forth shot had come from

John, who had hit Simon in the shoulder. John was lying with his back to the wall breathing hard. Cowley rushed over to him.

"Si..mon....e...evil..." John said in between gasping for breath.

"I'm sorry. We really need to know where you took Doyle?" Cowley asked softly. He could almost sense the agents behind him hold their breath. John was very close to death. They

would never be able to beat it out of Simon. John shakily breathed in and looked at Cowley.

Bodie parked at the side of the road and drummed his fingers on the steering wheel anxiously. Still no news from Cowley or Murphy. His impatience grew. If Ray had been ..... buried

alive (there he'd thought it) then he could be dead even now. Without air a person would unconscious in four minutes and dead in ten. Bodie took a deep breath and closed his eyes

briefly. The unwilling knowledge forcing it's way in his head. With air a person could last a lot longer. It depended on conditions. It was possible to die of exposure, though it was

more likely to die of dehydration or starvation. Bodie shook his head and tried to think of something else. He took a deep breath. Maybe he'd call Claire this weekend? No as a

distraction, even that didn't work. Bodie smiled briefly. That would make Ray laugh. Not that he'd ever tell him though. He looked at the stubbornly silent RT unit.

"Bloody call will you!" he glared at it.

Bodie's fists clenched and unclenched and he purposefully stared out of the window, keeping his mind carefully blank. He could feel fear's harsh fingers slowly start to grip him. The

seconds and minutes that ticked away seemed to pass like hours. It came as a slight shock to him when he looked at the clock and realised that it had only been 10 minutes since

he'd stopped in the lay-by. He silently threatened the clock with violence. The clock ticked balefully back at him. He looked out the window again and watched the cars go pass. He

tried to let the constant drone of the engines as they passed hypnotise him, but his mind constantly turned and soon it started to annoy him. He found another window and

determinedly stared out of it purposefully ignoring the obstinately silent radio. He remembered someone from his past telling him that the phone wouldn't ring if you stared at it.

Narrowing his eyes, he tried to recall who it was. Anything to stop him from thinking about the current situation. Come on Cowley, come on…. The radio had barely beeped once

before Bodie was on it.

"3.7."

"We have the address 3.7." It was Cowley's voice. "Amontillado farm, near Bellsmere road, turn down the dirt track, the farmhouse is at the end." There was an ominous pause.

"Underneath the oak tree."

Bodies checked the position on the map then started the car. Why was it that wherever he was sent it was always in the opposite direction to where he'd been going? He turned the

steering wheel, the tires screeched, and he accelerated. The first thing he thought as he sped away was that if there was more than one bloody oak tree on that farm, there'd be

murder.

Bodie reached the end of the muddy dirt track and screeched the car to a halt outside the farmhouse. He got out the car and retrieved a shovel from the boot feeling sick as he did

so. He ran to the door and found it open. He ran to the back and found a second open doorway. As he peered inside he could just make out a large heavy-looking water tank. He

turned, his eyes quickly scanning the fields beyond. It would have been too bloody easy to have one damn oak in the middle of a field wouldn't it? Thought Bodie. He spotted what

looked like a crown of trees in a field not off and ran towards it.

The air had been trapped with him in the coffin. What was left in Doyle's lungs was gradually being squeezed out of him by the earth. Up, push, climb, keep going. His shaking hands

pushed upwards looking for hand holds that weren't there. Soil and earth closed in about him trying to push him down. There was nothing to grab hold of, nothing to pull up on. The

earth slipped and slid everywhere. He desperately needed to breath, but if he tried it would mean a mouth full of mud. His lungs burned, his muscles screamed. It seemed too far, and

he didn't know if he was making any progress at all. It was too dark to see, the soil got in his eyes, he needed air and he was running out of energy. Suddenly his fingers were cold.

He could feel a breeze. Hope flooded through him. He pulled his hand back down then pushed back up with more determination. A hand seized his and started pulling him up. Doyle

continued to push the soil down with his feet and pushed his other hand through to the surface. It too was grabbed. As he finally reached the surface, he breathed in the desperately

needed air. He continued to be pulled up by underneath his shoulders and he was hauled free.

"Ray?" he heard a concerned voice. Bodie's concerned voice. He would never tell him how much it meant to hear it and that moment. The sky was spinning, he felt sick and dizzy. After

taking a few more lungfuls of air Doyle replied with a flicker of a smile on his face.

"What took you so long?"

Bodie sat back on the ground, then realised he'd left his RT unit back at the car. Doyle was struggling to his feet, Bodie helped him. It probably wasn't wise for him to move, but he

could easily understand why he didn't want to linger there. In the distance hear could hear sirens. That would probably be an ambulance for Doyle. He looked a little bloody and

bruised, not to mention muddy but otherwise in one piece. All be it in one exhausted piece. When they reached the house, they walked round it and Doyle sat in the car. While Bodie

stood outside and radioed in. He was inwardly relieved to see the amusement on Doyle's face as Cowley berated him for forgetting the radio. When the ambulance arrived, they

dressed Doyle's wounds and prodded and poked him for a bit before declaring he was basically alright and muttered something about psychological evaluation.

"They think you're barmy mate" was Bodie's comment. Doyle glared. Bodie grinned, that was another good sign as far as he was concerned.

If you have made it to the end, congratulations! Reviews are most welcome! You could be really lucky (yes I am being sarcastic!) and I may write a sequel.