Cowley had tried to save Annie Irvine's life. Did he get any thanks for it? Not a chance. Annie lived in Annie's world of Yes men and women. Those who didn't dance to her tune were walked over like that poor sop, Cowley. Yes, that tough guy who has both the heavy boys and the Ministers sitting up and taking notice. That tough guy who puts lives at stake – his own agents' lives – if it served a purpose. And that purpose was to save lives and property; to keep blood off the streets; to have Britain once again smelling ever so slightly of roses and lavender.

But underneath the gruff exterior lay a wounded heart. One day, he thought, one day Annie will be mine. Perhaps when she's finished politicking and I've finished saving the world – or, at least my small corner of it – we'll meet up and have a wee dram, watch a passionate opera and laugh over the candlelight and music of an exclusive little restaurant. Oh, Annie, Annie. Where did that dream go?

So here was Cowley, badly beaten up and hurting in a place that the doctors couldn't reach, in a quiet hospital bed. It was assumed that Cowley was not a romantic man. The same mistake had been made of Bodie. Oh he could woo a girl and sweet-talk her into any bed of his choosing, but to go all sentimental? Bodie in love? Never. But he knew a man in pain when he saw it – and he saw it in George Cowley's face that day when he and Doyle had returned to the private hospital room where their boss was recovering. Bodie had said nothing then, not in front of Doyle, but he would return with a wee dram and a chat and see what he could do from there. If you'd called Bodie an old romantic, he would have laughed it off, but we know the best of him. He'd eventually won Doyle round when Ann Holly had left him in the lurch. But taking Cowley out for a meal (when he was eventually on his feet) and finding a girl for him as he'd done with Ray … Bodie grinned in the car on the way back to the hospital later that evening at the thought of pimping for George Cowley!

At the hospital he was met by a very anxious doctor.

"Thank God. You arrived quickly. I only phoned a few minutes ago."

Bodie went cold. The blood drained from his face and his legs threatened to wobble.

"I'd forgotten to give something to Mr Cowley," Bodie lied, "so came straight back here. Why? What's going on?"

The doctor looked very embarrassed, and pushed Bodie gently away from the public reception area to a quiet office. "He's, er, gone missing."

"What, discharged himself?"

"No, that's it. He wasn't strong enough to walk out of here. He'd no clothes anyway – as far as we know."

Bodie looked aghast. He rearranged the scenario in his head. Rather than Cowley taking a downward turn – as he partner had done the previous year – he was missing rather than dying. It was only marginally better. He tried to calm his mind and think straight.

"Apart from me and Doyle, what other visitors did he have?"

"No idea," the doctor stated apologetically, "we don't monitor visitors. We haven't the staff or the inclination. Since Mr Cowley is – was – in a private room he could have visitors any time he wanted."

"How was he last time you – or any other member of staff – saw him?"

"Well, he was recovering. His injuries were quite severe, and his age …"

"Yes," Bodie interrupted, "you said that he was on the mend but, just now you said that he couldn't walk."

"Well, as far as the loo, but certainly not right across the hospital and out of the front door – or the back."

"Have you searched the hospital?"

"It's a hell of a big place …"

Before the doctor could come up with any other excuses an anxious Doyle and Murphy turned up, having got the call from HQ.

"You got here quick," Doyle said to his partner.

Bodie wasn't going to admit that he'd returned because he was worried about Cowley's emotional state, so ignored Doyle's comment and filled in the agents on what little he and the doctor knew.

"Any sign of a struggle?" ex-copper Doyle enquired while leading them to the room in question.

They'd arrived and they could see for themselves. The bed had clearly been slept in and the sheets turned back as though the occupant had, as the doctor had said, popped to the loo. Doyle's R/T growled and he left to answer it, leaving his colleagues to poke about.

He shortly returned. "A ransom note has been left at Cowley's flat."

The team left for HQ. They learned there that a note had been nailed to Cowley's front door. A neighbour had reported it in to the local cops. They knew who lived at the flat and what he did, so had contacted CI5. They hadn't opened the envelope. They knew there'd be hell to pay if they did. Leave it to CI5 – so they did. The duty officer at CI5 had opened it carefully and found a scrawled letter, brief and to the point.

If you want the Major back you'd better start looking – hard. The tide should be in soon.

The agents looked blankly at each other. The Thames was a hell of a long river and, pointed out Murph, not just the Thames – anywhere on the coast of our little island – which suddenly didn't seem that little any more. The Major was out there somewhere.

"We'd better get that sod in from MI5, Colbeck, to organise things," Bodie said moodily. "He's deputising at the moment isn't he?"

Before Murph could protest, Doyle got in first. "This is our pigeon, Bodie. Colbeck might think he's running CI5 at the moment but we know better – don't we?"

Bodie turned to Murphy and saw an equally anxious and determined face. "Right," Bodie agreed firmly. "Our pigeon."