Doyle is working contentedly on his vintage bike. He's enjoying an unexpected treat that Cowley gave him a week off at short notice. He could think of no better way of spending his time than on his beloved Harley Davidson. He hears a car pull up outside. He slides his hand under the bench and feels for the hard steel of his trusty weapon, and eases off the safety catch. He's not concerned, just cautious. He hears footsteps coming his way. He draws the concealed gun closer to his body as he carries on working. He senses a presence by the open door to his workshop. It's Bodie. The agent was about to lean on the doorframe but remembered in time how dirty it was, and he was in a good suit.
"Sorry to drag you away." He lets the sentence hang.
Unseen, Doyle slips the safety catch back on quietly and pushes the gun back into its niche under the bench.
"I'm on leave," he complains, wiping the worst of the oil from his hands, resigned already to a wrecked week's R&R.
"We're never off duty!" they chorused as Doyle locks up.
Bodie follows his friend into the flat and pours himself a scotch as he waits for his partner to get the worst of the dirt from his body.
"It's like really urgent," Bodie calls after waiting a few comfortable minutes.
His partner doesn't reply but is ready in record time. It's only as they drive away and not able to be overheard that Bodie fills him in on what little he knows.
"The old man's in a flap about something. It sounded urgent."
"It always does," Doyle moaned, secretly excited at the prospect of a new assignment.
.
"I said it was urgent," grumbled Cowley as the pair turned up in his office. The agents were wise enough to say nothing. "Well, sit you down."
Cowley then slid a photograph across the desk. It was a cropped photo of a smiling, middle-aged woman. The young agents felt that she was vaguely familiar, but they couldn't put their finger on it. They waited to see where she fitted in.
"This is Mrs McEwen," explained Cowley. "She has gone missing from her last known address in Edinburgh. She was working on the Coolings Project." Cowley looked at his agents to see if the name meant anything to them. Their blank stares indicated that it did not. "Coolings." Cowley waited. It hadn't meant anything to them first time; it certainly didn't second time. "The new decoding computer trials." The agents tried to look interested, intelligent and knowledgeable. Unfortunately they failed on all counts. Cowley sighed. He knew he was being unreasonable to expect his agents to know everything, but it would be nice if they tried.
"Mrs McEwen is a key part of the Coolings Project. If she fell into enemy hands it would be disastrous. Our assignment – your assignment – is to get her back by any means necessary. You'll find the files ready for you next door."
The agents waited a heartbeat for any grains of further information or guidance, but none were forthcoming. They judged Cowley's mood, and it did not invite questions or suggestions. The pair dutifully got up and resigned themselves to several hours sifting through paperwork.
.
Indeed, several hours later the pair got up stretching and rubbing their eyes and the back of their necks. They had been at it for longer than they realised. They adjourned to a nearby café for a quick bite to eat. They were going to exchange notes there, but the café was too full so they returned back to HQ and the mess room, where it wouldn't matter if they were overheard. Bodie started off the batting.
"She looks familiar somehow."
"Yeah, but that's not the point right now. We need to find her and fast. I can see why Cowley is in a flap about it. She's right in the centre of this Coolings business."
"Yeah, I can see why the Russkies want her real bad. We need to stop them before they get her anywhere near the border."
"You're assuming that it's the Commies who've got her, Bodie. But we can't assume anything. The ports and airports are already on alert. We need to go to Scotland and start talking to her colleagues there."
Bodie gave no comment. He was thinking along the same lines. They reported to Cowley their plan of action. Their leader, as usual, was at least one step ahead of them. He smiled benignly while sliding a thick envelope towards them. Bodie opened it, knowing already what was in it. Two rail tickets - return date open.