Captain
Jack Harkness awoke to the increased pressure of rope around his neck, arms and
ankles and the butt numbing pressure of a hard surface against his back. He no longer had the warmth and comfort of
his great coat softening the pressure between the thick wooden surface and his body. He was wearing only his shirt and boxers, and
the light hairs on his body bristled with the cold and goose bumps. He felt chilled but not confused, he felt
aware but not scared, although...he knew from the night earlier that whoever
was behind whatever was happening, was doing it because they knew him, they
wanted to extract information, and the only thing that annoyed him, was that he
didn’t know who THEY were or what THEY wanted.
It was dark in the room, the faint
trickling sound of water against a stone wall told him he was below ground
somewhere. The echo of a cough and the
scraping of footwear on the stone ground told him also that they could be in an
underground bunker. He could smell dirt,
soil based dirt, so an underground bunker in the countryside somewhere – that
could put him anywhere between Cardiff and London.
How long had he been asleep for, what time
was it? There were voices, low and
hushed and for a few moments while he got his bearings he held off the
struggling and shouting. Why was he
taken? Who were they, and what did they want?
Jack cast his mind back to the night he
was manhandled into the back of a Luton box van and sat on for most of the
journey, a cloth bag over his head that smelt of petrol and grass. So he’d been kidnapped by gardeners? The road
had been bumpy, he accounted every groan and rib crunching pot hole to be the
route across a dirt track. They were
deep holes, obviously farm land, or maybe military. He was suffocating in the bag, his eyes were
watering and his throat burned from the petrol fumes.
He must have passed out as when he came to
he felt his body being hauled up and his legs did that silly dance when
intoxicated and unable to feel below the waist.
Every part of his ‘sat on’ body tingled with pins and needles. He had to be supported. His hands were cuffed in plastic ties secured
tightly behind his back. The cloth bag
had moved and he felt cool fresh air enter in and felt glad and inhaled it,
recovering from the overwhelming desire to throw up. His eyes still smarted.
There were puddles and he stepped in a
few, was half dragged through others, the water was cold as it lapped over his
socks. Intermingled with his pins and
needles it was the coldest feeling ever.
Jack decided that if they were going to
kill him, they wouldn’t have gone to the lengths of covering his head and
dragging him halfway across the pot holed tracks unless...
There were more than three men walking
with him. Some dragged their feet so he
ascertained they weren’t military but the hired help, only one seemed to walk
with some purpose. He wondered if he
were the one to do the killing. Let’s
face it, if they were going to drag him this far, in the middle of nowhere,
that he was going to be a hostage, or he was going to answer for any number of
crimes against any number of people. Did
they know who he was? Did they know that no matter how many times they killed
him dead – he’d come back? Why did they want to kill him?
Jack’s mind raced. What if by kidnapping him, or killing him, they
could get access to Mitchell, after all there were still agencies looking for
the boy, and it didn’t take a genius to locate him. Jack felt sick his stomach knotted up. The anger and hurt in the pit of his stomach lurched
as he realised why he’d left the building in the first place. He began to struggle against his bonds. He
had to get back to Mitchell. He had to
warn Gwen, had to tell her to step up security, had to....had to....
Snarling, he drove his full force against the
unfortunate man beside him, as he regained his footing. The man, surprised,
yelled as he fell against the rutted ground. Jack kicked out blindly,
remembering he was only in his stocking feet. He swore as his hands were still
secure in the ties.
He had to make a run for it, but he
couldn’t see, and the bag wouldn’t free itself.
Then the scrum of men threw themselves onto him and brought him down to
the ground splashing against the deep puddles.
He gasped at the cold water as it surged into the bag, slapping his
face. He tasted the muddy water in his
mouth as he struggled to get up. But the
scrum forced his head under murky water. He felt them pummel him, felt the size
9 boots into his stomach, against his chest and as he moved, as the scrum
shifted, he felt himself shifted from the puddle. He saw flashes of light and felt pain as
someone connected with the bag, with his face.
After the second kick he saw nothing else.
He didn’t see or feel the men get off him,
drag him up and haul him towards the bunker with the orange glow from inside
and drag his sorry ass down the four stone steps into the domed building just
visible above ground - like a hangar for model aeroplanes for Hobbits.
Once inside the building, he was carried,
an arm and leg a piece towards an elevator and down another level. The building was chilly, it was built just
before the Cold War, and had been built with the sole intention of housing just
one man. But then the cost of the build
had led into thousands, millions of pounds and the plan was scrapped, but the
bunker remained, and three levels below ground was as far as they could
go.
It was self sufficient to a point, and the
dweller could survive for many years after a nuclear explosion. There were vents that purified the air,
filters that purified the water, sanitation was better than the system above
the ground; everything had been thought of, even the growing of plants for
food.
Captain Jack Harkness was carried along
the corridor towards a large room at the end.
The soldier pushed open the door and stepped aside and watched as his four
accomplices removed the ties from Harkness’ wrists, and the bag from his head and
lifted him up onto the Rack. The archaic
device had been modernised in many features, it operated not with rollers but
with cogs and slabs of polished wood that moved at each click of the cog. The cogs were digitalised into a system run
from a cable attached to the operating system of the Rack. In other words, the only operator was the
person on the other side of the cable.
The
cable itself fed into a computer, hooked up to another, that was linked to one
sole operator.
Jack struggled in his bonds and yelled
loudly at his incarceration. He heard
footsteps enter the room but saw nobody other than the plain white ceiling of
his confinement.
‘WHO IS THERE, TALK TO ME, WHY AM I HERE?’ He growled struggling further. Nobody spoke.
He could hear them shuffling in the room, footsteps like those along the
track, but no words, no visible faces to glare at. He heard the clicking of a wooden cog and
felt the board that he laid on move.
There was tightness around his ankles, wrists and neck. ‘You know if this is a form of bondage you
didn’t have to go to all this trouble?’
Jack tried turning his head but the ropes against his neck rubbed
viciously against his skin. ‘Who are
you, what do you want with me?’ He
growled finally.
Again silence. Jack knew then that he was going to being
tortured. He had to work out who they
were and why they wanted him. He had to
know before they killed him, before they found Mitchell and before they found
Gwen and the team.
Think
Jack, think, who wanted you dead? Who wanted Torchwood out of the picture?
Two
days earlier
Mitchell sighed as he logged out of his
desktop computer and leaned back in his chair, his arms behind his head he
stretched, and yawned loudly. ‘Well this is exciting’ He remarked glancing a
look at the clock, newly acquired, that hung on the wall opposite in the office.
‘By about now, back in London, I’d have completed my walk around the block, had
breakfast, cup of coffee, read the paper and got a ride into town, and
contemplated lunch’ He said as the
minute arm clicked down to the six indicating half past eleven.
‘So why don’t you go and order up some food
from the Deli and bring it back here.’
Suggested Gwen immersed in something of interest on her computer screen.
‘I’ll have a ham and pineapple baguette,
easy on the mayo, and one of those Belgian buns or an empire biscuit.’ Clark
replied as he moved the black Jack to the red Queen in order to remove the red 5
to the red 6. It was his fifth attempt on beating the computer and he feared
another loss was on the cards.
‘I’m not allowed, remember.’ Mitchell
replied nodding his head towards the half-closed door of Jack’s office. Gwen
met his gaze and raised a brow, then remembering the conversation in the car,
months earlier with Jack, smiled apologetically.
‘Ahh
In that case, take Clark with you.’
Gwen replied glancing over at Goodson’s less than exciting screen.
‘No, I’m good thanks...busy’ Clark replied flicking the screen back to the
not so interesting search for a name that the database was still randomly
trying to select, from a series of data he’d entered almost forty minutes ago.
‘I’ll come with you.’ Marley smiled. She got to her feet, keen as mustard, grabbed
her bag and checked her purse.
Mitchell got up and lifted his coat from
the back of his chair. He waited for Jack to appear, but with one row already
under his belt that morning, he wasn’t sure he wanted another on an empty
stomach. He shrugged on his jacket while Marley collected the food orders and
knocked on Jack’s door. A grunt from
inside indicated Jack was still there, although snowed under a mound of
paperwork. Mitchell lingered in the
doorway.
‘Marley and I are going for food, you want
anything?’
‘It doesn’t take both of you to get food.’
‘I know, but as I recall, you said I wasn’t
allowed out on my own, even though I’m fully capable of looking after myself.’ Mitchell replied gazing back out into the
office and at Marley in particular.
‘We’ve already discussed this Mitch, you
know why.’
‘No, we’ve not discussed this.’ He felt his anger rising again, bristles on
the back of his neck prickling. So far
in this so called relationship they hadn’t discussed jack shit, so far it had
been Jack laying down the ground rules and Mitchell having to comply. Only now he didn’t want to comply. ‘It’s been three months man, and nobody has
come looking for me, nobody gives a shit.
It’s done. I’m going out.’
‘No, you’re not. MITCHELL’
Jack called as his door slammed shut.
He got to his feet but Mitchell had already reached the elevator with
Marley. Jack growled and grabbed his
great coat slumped over an easy chair in his spacious office and tore after
them, down the fire escape staircase, taking two and three steps at a
time.
Gwen watched the angry exchange without a
word. Work was quiet for the Torchwood
team, despite the constant monitoring of the area around the closed anomaly,
there was every possibility it might re-open.
Using what technology, they had recently scavenged, having found a
source who was selling goods acquired from the destroyed Hub, their equipment
was looking more like the old place and less like a call centre. But even with the equipment, some requiring
recalibrating and re-aligning, work was still thin on the ground. For the last few weeks Gwen had been
following up on something only she and Jack were privy to. She logged out of
her station and gathering her coat, and bag, took the elevator down to the 1st
floor in search of Jack.
She didn’t need to look too far. Marley
watched as the two men argued in the confines of the stairwell, away from the
glass doors of the main foyer. She
looked over at Gwen as she neared and nodded her head towards the echoing voices
amplified in the narrow gap.
‘I wish he’d tell him the truth.’ Marley
sighed watching the two men. Mitchell’s hand already on the door break, Jack’s
back against the door, heads locked in a bitter struggle between whether the
door opened or not.
‘You and me both.’ Gwen sighed. ‘Only Jack likes to do things his way, and he
won’t be moved on it.’
‘I’m worried for Mitchell; he’s been like a
bear with a sore head for weeks now. It
can’t be doing him any good staying at the safe house.’
‘Do you want to be the one to add leverage
to the argument, because be my guest?’
Gwen said.
Marley shook her head. ‘And have it bitten
off. I need to get food, and pick up supplies.
Mitchell wouldn’t be any trouble with me. I don’t see the problem. Like
he says, if nobody has bothered for three months, it’s hardly likely they’ll
bother him now.’
‘How about I take him?’ Goodson said standing behind them. He looked handsome in his three-piece suit, a
reminder of another sharp dressed man, and although Gwen knew it wasn’t him,
and knew also that Clark had a habit of dressing just like Ianto, she knew he
wasn’t doing it deliberately, or she really hoped he wasn’t. Having gone through a series of photographs
of Clark, from his own personal files, he was always in a suit, whether
military, or casual. Perhaps that’s why
she liked him, because he was familiar, or felt familiar, but there was
something about him, that she wasn’t sure of, something odd, not quite right, and
she couldn’t put her finger on it, but like Jack had said, whatever it was, it
would reveal itself to them one day.
‘I thought you were busy?’ Gwen teased.
‘I was, but now I’m not.’
He sidestepped them and into the narrow
walkway and weighed up the situation. Clark could tell from the look on both men’s
faces that neither were going to back down.
‘Jack, how about I take him. I’m more than capable of handling myself in a
difficult situation. I can handle myself and it would give Mitchell a chance
for some fresh air. If we don’t let him
out soon, one of us will be firing him out of an upstairs window, as he is
driving us insane in the office.’ He smiled curtly at Mitchell, who turned to
look at him.
‘It’s too dangerous. The answer is no.’ Jack replied defiantly.
‘FINE.’ Mitchell took a step back, then
another and glared at Jack darkly. ‘Fine.’ Mitchell about turned and climbed
back up the stairs, to work off his rage. Jack watched Mitchell’s apparent back
down and frowned. There were no fists
flying as normal, he’d not landed a single punch, but he didn’t trust his new
mood. Whether it was for effects,
whether it was because Gwen and Marley were there, he wasn’t sure. He watched Mitchell climb the stairs, taking
huge strides, then running up the stone steps up to the next level.
‘He’ll be worn out by the time he makes it
to the 17th floor.’ Clark quipped tilting his head back to witness
the climb.
‘You have to tell him Jack, you can’t hold
off the truth forever, he has a right to know.’
Gwen said, stepping into the stairway after the altercation.
Jack shot a dark angry look at Gwen.
‘Can’t
I?’ He pushed past her and began the
long climb back to the office, as Gwen followed, and Clark and Marley left for
an extended lunch break and supplies.
In the Office, Mitchell was nowhere to be
found. Jack frowned. He glanced in each of the rooms adjacent to
the office, he checked the CCTV for the entire building, replayed it from the
moment Mitchell climbed the stairs, and located him – on the roof. ‘Shit’
The air was cool on the ledge, the power
of the upsurge wasn’t strong enough to keep him upright, wasn’t strong enough
to prevent him from falling, should he choose to. His heart ached. Mitchell had punched several walls on the way
up the staircase to the roof. It was
better he felt, than landing a fatal blow on the Captain or anyone who got in
his way.
From where he stood he could see across
the city and out towards the open sea.
The water didn’t interest him, in fact it scared him. The open expanse that was deep and dark and
cold could pull a novice under in a blink of an eye. He glanced across at the rest of the high-rise
buildings, offices and residential homes, superstores. He inhaled the fresh air amidst the car fumes
and salty taste of the sea. He moved his
hands away from his sides and felt the nerve endings tingle, felt the arms
goose bump.
‘You know if you’re going to jump I’m not
coming after you.’ Captain Jack Harkness
called as he stepped out onto the roof from the stairs.
‘Who says I’m going to jump?’ Mitchell replied
without turning to see Jack.
Jack moved warily close to the ledge. He maintained eye contact with Mitchell as he
did so. The wind buffeted his coat,
slapping it against his legs as he walked.
‘Come off the ledge and we’ll talk.’
‘But we don’t. We never do.
You say you will, but you won’t.’
‘I promise I will.’
‘What are you going to talk about?’ Mitchell
asked, chancing a glance, while the wind whipped his hair into a frenzy of
designs.
‘Anything you want – you name it?’
Mitchell inhaled and sighed heavily. There
were so many questions, each one as important as the next, but Jack wouldn’t
answer all of them, he knew that. He
stepped off the ledge but remained with his back against it, the wind buffeting
his shoulders. ‘It’s been three months, and nobody has come looking. I’ve been
coming up here every day just to get out of the office. You’ve had me busting
my balls searching every database for a name that doesn’t exist. I’ve done
that, I’ve searched, I’ve come up with 1500 variables and I’m convinced that the
only reason you’re doing this is because you don’t have a real job for me, and
that reason is so you can keep me here, where you can see me. Do you know how boring this is for me?’
Jack pushed his hands into his pockets for
warmth and glanced over Mitchell’s shoulder at life beyond the building. ‘This
isn’t a minor offence Mitch, you killed a man in his office by ripping his
throat open. You stole military secrets
which in the eyes of the law is treason.
You face a lengthy jail term and you may be incarcerated for life.
Whatever your reasons were, no judge will believe you. We got you out because
of a promise I made to your father many years ago and I always keep my
promises.’ Jack replied focusing on
Mitchell. He walked towards him,
stepping to one side and leaned against the ledge, his elbows resting on the
brickwork.
‘We can’t protect you if you run off, if
you’re out there on your own.’
‘But I wouldn’t have been on my own. I’d have gone with Marley. I’m not a child Jack, I’m nearly a quarter of
a century and you’re treating me like a baby.’
Jack tilted his head to look at
Mitchell. ‘The holes in the plasterboard
on the way up the stairs, that’s the behaviour of a grown up?’
Mitchell turned around and picked the
lichen from the stone work, dropping it over the side. ‘If I’m to live in this
city, and work in this company that you have, at least give me some credit. I
came with you when we had to deal with those dicks on legs, I didn’t see you
refraining from letting me out then.’
‘You were with me.’
‘So, if I were to go out now, it would have
to be with you, right?’ Jack
nodded. ‘You know they say that a
relationship can go sour when you’re living in each other’s pockets.’ Mitchell flicked more lichen from the roof as
Jack laughed. Mitchell brushed the
debris from his hands and faced Jack again.
‘I’m worried about Marley, and you’re
worried about me.’ Mitchell pushed away
from the ledge. ‘She’s more likely to run than I am, but you don’t care about
her, because having someone to fuck every night is more important than
understanding a woman who has lost her entire life on the other side of an
anomaly and who cries herself to sleep every night, but a vagabond like me is
more fucking important?’
He hissed at Jack and returned to the
stairs. Jack stared after him open mouthed.
Lunchtime was over. Marley and Clark stepped from the elevator in
deep conversation that ended abruptly when Clark spotted Mitchell at his
computer. His eyes darted from the open window to the other that he’d left
unattended, the database collating a name and 1500 variables.
‘Oi, that’s my seat, your seat is over by
the wall, get up.’ Clark growled gripping hold of the computer chair. Marley raised a brow but continued her
journey to the small kitchen, with the open box and bags of food. Mitchell
remained seated. Gwen sat with Jack in his office, the door closed.
On the computer screen Mitchell moved the
cards to their allotted piles as Clark watched, his eyes on the unattended
window. ‘Move...NOW.’ He growled, jerking the seat.
‘I’m almost done. I can’t believe you
couldn’t finish it’
‘I was taking a break. Since when did you
get to be so good at it?’
‘It’s a strategy game. Moving a series of
coloured cards to make a line, like in chess, or in a database, clearing
through the debris to find the name you want.
Your database search ended over 40 minutes ago. Who’s Todd Jamieson?’ Mitchell turned in the seat and looked up at
Clark’s dark eyes and raised a brow.
‘It’s funny the name sounds familiar, or
maybe,’ Mitchell got to his feet and faced Clark. ‘that I have the exact same name on my
database. Jack doesn’t trust either of us.’
‘Is that so?
Funny then how I’m allowed out of the building and you have to remain
here, like a kid in detention.’ Clark narrowed his eyes. ‘I won’t tell you
again. MOVE.’
Mitchell stepped aside, sensing hostility
in the tall, muscular man before him. ‘I’m
only doing this to be polite but next time say please.’
‘There won’t be a next time.’
‘If you don’t want me to see anything, then
sign out of the system and I won’t look.
We’re here to do the same job unless you’ve got something to hide.’
‘Stay
away from my computer.’
Clark pulled the chair out and sat down,
gripping the mouse tightly, he flicked between the two windows to scrutinise
the pages. Mitchell watched him and shook his head. He didn’t much care for the
man but there was nothing in his manner that he hated. He’d be the same he knew
that, if someone looked over his work, which reminded him, Jack still had his
laptop.
Marley sat in the bathroom, on the lid of
the toilet seat and opened up her tablet.
She stared at the CCTV footage on the screen of the elderly man and
woman caught on camera carrying shopping bags from a branded supermarket in
Glasgow. She smiled endearingly at them
and felt the tears prickle her cheeks. She was almost set. Train ticket, although she could book a plane
ticket and be there in a few hours, far quicker than train, far more
comfortable than sharing with a bunch of football supporters tanked up and
singing out of key, loudly. She’d mentally challenged every argument for and
against visiting the couple. She’d
weighed up the possibilities that this Marley Hanratty might already be there,
she might even be living with them, she did for ever such a long time before
she finally moved out to be with Geoff. Marley
still had nightmares about him. About Elvis, about that day.
She heard the main door open and footsteps
enter. It was too light for Gwen. She froze. The door to her left opened and a
body stepped in. The toilet seat rested against the cistern, a zip undid and
the sound of heavy pouring from a height came to her ears. She held her breath
as the urinating ceased. The zip rose but the toilet didn’t flush, and the door
didn’t open. Marley could hear her heart
beating and hoped next door couldn’t.
‘You know it works better if you sit on the
seat properly?’ Mitchell said, from
above the cubicle looking down into hers.
Marley glanced up to see the cheeky smile
and exhaled loudly. ‘Christ, you bloody gave me a scare, men’s toilets are
along the corridor.’
‘I know, but I figured you were probably in
here.’
‘Given that there’s only one other female in
work today, the possibilities were too high for me being anywhere else.’ Marley
got to her feet and left the cubicle, stowing her tablet, now switched from the
CCTV image and back to the main screen back into her bag. She washed her hands.
Marley caught Mitchell watching her from
the cubicle door. ‘I hope you’re planning on washing your hands and flushing
the loo. The germs you could spread if
you touch any food or...’
‘Take a chill pill darlin’.’ Mitchell pulled a face as he stepped towards
the washbasin and washed his hands in cold water, pumping the soap
dispenser. ‘Happy?’
‘Why are you here? In here, I mean?’ Marley asked tugging on the paper towel, it
ripped nowhere near the perforations. Her damp fingers soaked through the
industrial blue paper.
‘I’m worried about you.’
‘You’ve no need to be, I’m fine. I was just a little down yesterday, I’m fine
now.’ She forced a smile.
‘Liar.’
‘You have no idea what it’s like for
me. Gwen goes home to her husband and daughter. You have Jack, and Clark, well he has that
old Uncle he sees, what do I have? Nothing.’
Her eyes glistened; the waterfall of tears ready to cascade down her
cheeks again. ‘I don’t know how much
more I can take, knowing they’re in the same house, same number, same street.’
‘But they’re not yours Marley.’ He took a step towards her. ‘They’re not your parents, they’re hers.’
‘I just want to see them. Just for a second.’
‘But it’s not just a second, is it? You’ll
go there, and you’ll watch the house, you’ll see them, and before you know it,
you’re at the door and you’re ringing the bell or knocking on the door. Then
you’re staring at her Mom and Dad and being invited in for Sunday lunch, and what
if she turns up, then what?’
‘I don’t know. But it hurts Mitch, it hurts
like hell knowing that I can’t even go and say ‘hello’, can’t have my parent’s
hold me, talk to me, love me like they love her. It’s not fair.’ Marley’s voice broke, her sobs echoed in the
bathroom, bouncing off the polished pigeon brown tiles. Mitchell held her close
and felt her slender body tremble against him.
‘Why don’t I come with you?’ He spoke softly
against her ear. She stopped sobbing
although her breaths were staggered snivels and her face a mix of tears and
snail trails. He smiled softly.
‘We could get the train and head up North,
or we hire a car and head up on the motorway, you’d probably have to drive, I
still need a licence.’
Marley wiped her face of tears and trails
and smiled. ‘You mean it?’
‘Yeah, I could do with getting away from
here for a while and there’s nothing for me here.’
‘But...Jack?’
‘You need to do this, for closure more than
anything else. Right?’
She didn’t want to admit it but he was
right, just one last time, to say goodbye.
She could do that. ‘Thank you.’
She smiled, kissing him quickly on the lips without thinking. It hadn’t meant anything more than a thank
you. But as their eyes met properly, as
each studied the other, weighed up the risks, dashed aside the risks, their
lips met again, and they kissed with a passion, a furious moment of fumbling
and zips and thumps against walls and tiles.
A turn of the lock on the bathroom door, shunting against cubicle doors,
gasps and groans, thrusts and kisses, sensual movement of two people in the
throes of a sexual nature, all captured in perfect imagery on the camera in the
corner of the bathroom, monitoring their every move.
Captain Jack Harkness strode furiously out
of the office under a dark cloud. He
took the stairs, three at a time, knowing the elevator wouldn’t shake the
mood. Blinded by anger he lost his
footing twice on the stairwell and crunched into the wall on the landing, clattering
his shoulder.
The fire door slammed open against the
wall scratching the surface of the wall behind.
He stood in the car park, gasped back an emotion he didn’t want to shed
and stared up at the blackened night sky. Stars were shrouded by cloud. It hurt.
He didn’t want to let it get to him, didn’t want to show that weakness,
that chink of the armour. He’d walk it
off, brush it aside, damage limitation; it was only sex after all. It bothered
him, that he was upset about it. He was still wrestling with the possibilities
that he could be Mitch’s father. He was certain he wasn’t, but what if he was? So,
why did it bother him so much that Mitchell was finding solace in another
person? Why was it clawing at his heart so much? Why should it fucking bother
him? Because deep down, buried under a pile of doubts, was an undying love that
he couldn’t shake, for the boy now bearing his surname.
He turned
to see Gwen in the open doorway, and shook his head.
‘I don’t want to talk.’
‘I know,’ she said walking over, her black
jacket zipped up against the cold. ‘Just don’t do anything you may regret.’ Gwen said taking a hold of his cold
hand.
Jack snorted and turned away. He sighed
heavily. ‘I’m all right.’
Jack strode out of the building car park and
out onto the dimly lit pavements left of the Millennium Stadium. Gwen watched him go as the black van drove
slowly past her. She was about to return
when she heard voices, Jack’s voice and turned to see three men manhandling him
into the van. Gwen ran towards the van
with the red brake lights still on, she called out to them and fired off a
shot, blindly, it dinged off the back of the van, she fired again, but only the
sparks of the bullet hitting the metal lit up in the darkness. With a screech
of the tyres, the vehicle sped off. Gwen managed to read a partial number, it
wasn’t enough but it was something. CCTV would pick up the direction of the
van, it was a fairly new model, she’d find out more back at the Hub, but one
nagging thought struck her. Their secret
investigation hadn’t accounted for Jack to be taken, so who were they?
Jack
Harkness cried out from the Rack as the cogs separated the moving wooden plates
beneath him and pulled at his joints stretching his already stretched ligaments. Already his hands and feet were cold, their
circulation pinched by the tight ropes around them, he could just manage brief
gasps of breath as the ropes pulled down on his neck. He was going to die slowly, he knew it, but
he still didn’t know why.
Clark
hammered on the bathroom door till someone on the inside opened it. He pushed open the door to see a dishevelled
woman with smeared lipstick and untidy hair greet him on the way out. He grabbed her arm and pushed her back
inside.
‘I don’t think so, do you? Where’s lover boy?’ He snarled, sweeping his eyes about the room,
his hand still gripped tightly on Marley’s wrist.
Marley felt uncomfortable, the aggressive
behaviour of Goodson may have held him in good stead in the army but he was not
there now. She tried to pull her arm
free but the more she wriggled the tighter he gripped. She relented.
The cubicle doors were all closed but only
one was locked. Mitchell sat on the toilet seat. He was mildly aware of the several rules he
had broken, including pissing off Captain Jack at the top of the list. He heard Marley and Goodson speak and knew
that he had to show his face, if only to avoid further hardship later on. The door to his left slammed against the
cubicle wall as Goodson gave it a kick.
Marley gasped as her arm bruised.
‘Let go of me, you’re hurting me.’ She whimpered as she tried to pry his fingers
from around her upper arm.
Mitchell opened the cubicle door before
Goodson could kick it open. There was
limited space between door and toilet as it was, Mitchell wondered how larger
people coped in a cubicle this size, then remembered the cubicle at the end for
disabled.
‘Get your hand off her you arrogant prick.’ Mitchell said stepping from the cubicle and
facing Goodson head on. He saw the smirk
spread across the Welshman’s face just before Goodson let go of Marley’s hand
and sunk his fist into Mitchell’s lower abdomen. The young man went down like a sack of
potatoes onto the lino floor. It took
his breath away, curled up on the ground he couldn’t move for longer than a few
moments, while above him screams and threats and voices, so familiar that they
transported him back to the abandoned playgrounds that Shepperton frequented.
There was renewed yelling, a woman, two
women, and then Shepperton’s voice disappeared and Mitchell was back in the
bathroom receiving punishment from Goodson.
Gwen
comm’d the base, but nobody picked up.
She called again but silence.
‘What the hell?’ As she memorised the four visible numbers on
the licence plate Gwen pulled the phone from her pocket and called in, perhaps
it was low level interference on the blue tooth, but again no answer came from
within. Out of breath, she glanced up at
the tall building, the warning light flashing to low flying aircraft, the
lights on the upper level of offices, but still no bloody answer. Sighing, she returned to the Hub and took the
lift to the 17th floor.
As she had suspected, nobody sat in the
office, nobody manned the phones. ‘ANYBODY
HOME?’ She was certain there had been as
she’d left a few moments after Jack. Now
there was silence...well almost. Down
the hallway, voices were emanating from the women’s bathroom. She followed the commotion to find Marley
screaming and unsuccessfully attempting to extricate Goodson away from
Mitchell, who was squirming on the ground as kick upon kick appeared to connect
with him. Wading in like a bouncer at a
night club Gwen cocked the hammer of her Gloch against Goodson’s head.
‘AGENT GOODSON, STAND DOWN, THAT’S AN ORDER!’ She bellowed, the barrel of the pistol
pressed against the nape of his neck.
Goodson lowered his foot and turned around slowly. His face was flanked
with beads of sweat, his eyes were focused on the task before him, his
breathing was controlled. He looked at
Gwen, then really looked at Gwen. Gasps
and pants came from the body on the ground.
‘I don’t care what you were doing, but when
I call, I expect someone to be there, to answer. Jack, has been taken, by I
don’t know who, but I want you and Marley to get back in the office and help to
locate him. Is that understood?’ Gwen said, pointedly, her gaze never shifting
from Goodson.
‘I was just...’
‘I said, I don’t want to know. CCTV, black van, side door, Park Road, go
find that van...now. Marley, go with
him.’ Marley attempted to explain
herself. ‘Not going to repeat it.’ Gwen replied and shouldered her weapon. Mitchell remained on the ground. His face red and bloodied, his body curled up
in a foetal position. Gwen studied him for a moment, grabbed a handful of paper
towel and crouched beside him.
‘I would say you got what you deserved
but...come on, try and sit up.’ She
said, calmer than a few moments ago.
Mitchell with effort pulled himself up and
rested against the wooden base of the vanity units. He took the paper towels from her and clamped
them against his face and nose. His blue
eyes settled on Gwen. There were no
words.
‘Clean yourself up. Jack has been taken by
unknowns, and we need to find him. Clean yourself up, and come in when you’re
ready.’ She smiled lightly at him. He wasn’t a bad lad. He was a little hot
headed, and perhaps too hot headed for Jack to handle. Her mind raced to Jack
suddenly, and she got to her feet.
Mitchell sighed and watched her go.
Marley brought up the traffic layout for
the whole of Cardiff, the traffic zones, traffic lights, and keyed into the
routes that would lead on and off Park Road.
On one screen she had the CCTV links for the same areas and was tracking
the vehicle. She made out the image of
Gwen haring along the road and smiled.
She rewound the data and saw the moment Jack was pulled into the
vehicle. Clark was on his phone. He paced the office, mumbling incoherent words
into it. Marley couldn’t make it out. She continued her search.
Gwen entered the office and narrowed her
eyes at Clark. She pulled up her own chair and logged in to her computer, one
eye on Goodson the other on her screen.
Bringing up the data, she typed in the partial van licence plate and a
list of variables swam up on the screen in front of her. She tapped in a few
more details. Cardiff, Van, Black possibly. It narrowed the possibilities. She left the computer to search and called to
Goodson.
‘That had better be related and not a
personal call.’ She snapped. Clark glanced over and spoke into the phone.
‘I’ll call you back.’ He slipped the phone
back into his jacket pocket and retook his seat. The card game from earlier sat
on the open window, he opened another window. ‘Has Jack annoyed anyone
recently, perhaps it was someone he pissed off.’
‘It could be a number of people, or it could
be connected to Mitchell. I’m sure you
realise by now that he is our main priority.’
‘What
do you mean?’ Marley looked up.
‘Jack brought Mitchell here for safe
keeping, people are looking for him. With Jack missing, it falls to us to keep
him safe. To keep him here till Jack
returns.’
‘Jack never said anything about Mitchell. What’s
his story?’ Clark asked looking up from
the screen. His phone vibrated in his pocket.
He ignored it.
Gwen paused and glanced back down the
hallway. She looked back at Marley and Clark. ‘Mitchell is on a ‘need to know’
basis, all you need to know is that he is to remain here at all times, that
he’s not allowed out unless Jack or I say so. There are people who want him
dead, and it’s our job to protect him.’
‘There are people who want all of Torchwood
dead, what makes him so special?’
Goodson quipped.
‘It’s who Mitchell is connected to that
makes him a target. Taking out Jack means we’re more vulnerable than ever.’
‘Why don’t you tell them the real reason
Gwen?’ Mitchell leant against the edge of the the office wall, a few feet from
Marley’s desk, his face a series of cuts and bruises, his sides bruised but not
broken. He focused on his chair. He waited for the energy to move forward.
Gwen, Goodson and Marley looked over at
Mitchell. Gwen shook her head. Marley
was confused and Goodson waited for a good story. He lifted his phone from his
jacket, saw the caller had rung off, and set the phone on the table.
‘I’m here because I’m a wanted man.’
‘Wanted, by who?’ Marley asked
‘Mitchell, you don’t have to do this.’ Gwen
urged.
‘You’d want to know wouldn’t you, if you
were harbouring a fugitive of the law, right?’
Mitchell edged along the wall towards his seat, and gasped and winced as
he did so. He gripped hold of the metal
framed seat and pulled it back, its wheels moving slowly along the thin carpet
tiled floor. He sat down with a large
groan. Goodson glared darkly across the
office at him.
‘I’m...’
Mitchell studied each and every person in the room, from Clark whose
intentions he felt were not because of the honour of working for Torchwood, nor
for the honour of having Jack as his boss.
The beating he felt was more about Clark expressing his authority.
Gwen looked pained and worried. She knew
about Mitchell, from when Jack had expressed to her after the Lab visit.
‘I know stuff, stuff of importance, stuff
that other people want me to hand over, and for that reason, Jack doesn’t want
me going anywhere in case I’m arrested and thrown in prison. The upshot of it
is though, the information I have isn’t worth a crock of shit to anyone in this
room, or anyone other than Shepperton and a bunch of IT guys in the Ministry of
Defence. And since I was pulled out of
the Thames, I no longer have that information, but they don’t know that.’ He
smiled lightly at Gwen who had relaxed a little and smiled back. ‘Now does anyone have any painkillers as I
have a pounding headache?’
Marley
swore several times under her breath. One of the things she loved about
Torchwood software was the ability of locating areas of map quickly, and CCTV
and data at the touch of a button. What she hated was the inability of a camera
function, to not give a clear indication of a view of a road, the not quite crystal-clear
quality of the film to identify just what the van registration was, or who the
driver looked like. She lost sight of
the van in the underpass, heading out towards the Monmouth bypass she sat back
in the seat and shook her head.
‘Lost them.’
Gwen knew herself that it was a long shot
to expect the vehicle to lead them to the front door, or the back gate and she
hoped that the partial data would lead her to find Jack, but there were thirty
five possibles and only twenty eight of those were from the city itself, the
rest were in outlying areas between Cardiff and Bristol and one in North Wales.
Mitchell logged into his computer and
brought up the menu. He viewed the
schematic of the entire Hub. The
computers in the background ran with the software, the alien fronds swirled and
swayed against the blue. It was as
relaxing as watching fish in a tank. It was often that Mitchell would use this
way of entering Jack’s office. He entered the code into which Jack used to log
in with and viewed his current news. Jack and Gwen were working covertly on a
mission that didn’t involve him, nor Goodson or Marley. It was as if they
weren’t to be trusted. He didn’t care
that he wasn’t trusted, he wasn’t sure he liked Torchwood all that much either,
hadn’t seen much to persuade him to stay. His last mission with Jack hadn’t
been a barrel of laughs.
Mitchell missed London, missed his home
despite it being a hovel and not somewhere he could ever bring anyone back to.
He missed Reuben, despite what he’d been forced to do, he felt a pang of
emotion and blocked the image from his memory.
Remembering Reuben meant remembering why he was there and what he’d had
to do. He thought of Shepperton. He’d
been thinking of him a lot, memories were filtering back into his brain. He’d
forgotten a lot of why Shepperton wanted him, and how their paths had crossed,
till the other night when all the memories flooded back, as if a flood gate had
been breached. He’d felt a few niggling pains in his lower back but those as of
yet couldn’t be explained, although he’d put it down to over active night time
pursuits. He returned his thoughts to the mission on Jack’s computer that he’d
now copied and saved to his own. There
were covert names and he figured wolf boy was a code name for him. Whatever they were working on, involved him,
but didn’t involve him, working with Torchwood was more confusing than trying
to work out if the hairy scary, ninja spider was actually alive or stuck to the
wall of his hovel back home by nicotine stains.
Gwen pulled out her phone and disappeared into
Jack’s office. The divide within the
office was evident. Pulling on his headphones he patched into the cameras in
Jack’s office and eavesdropped. Gwen was talking to a Sgt Andy Davidson.
Tapping in the details on the computer, brought up a uniformed bod with stripes
on his shirt. It was a short conversation - the partial plate, life with Rhys
and Anwen and Jack.
Mitchell pulled off his headphones as Gwen
left the office and closed the program. He opened another window and brought up
the card game he’d copied from Clark’s computer. It was a regular card game,
single player, King through to Ace. Patience. He was good at this. Let them go
looking for Jack. He wasn’t allowed out.
He wasn’t allowed to follow up any of his searches. What was the point?
As the
office settled back into its regular pattern, Marley retraced her steps and
honed in on the partial plate. She ran some searches of ownership. It could take all night. She wasn’t going anywhere, not now. Clark lifted his vibrating phone from the
desk and took the call, pushing his seat back, he exited the office, pushing
the fire doors open and strode briskly towards the elevator.
Present Day...
Mitchell moved a series of cards onto
another row and backspaced when he ran out of cards to fill. He chose another game, he was bored with that
one. On the top right hand corner of the screen sat a row of five red static
hearts, his lives he deduced. He selected a new game and began to play. Growing
increasingly bored of the single card set, he upped the game to four colour
cards, the full set, hearts, clubs, spades and diamonds. It had now been two
days since Jack’s apparent kidnap. There had been no calls from his kidnappers,
no ransom note. The search for any clues
had thrown up little, and Andy was on the phone again to Gwen, Goodson was late
in, Marley hadn’t slept, and the hearts on the top right hand corner of the
screen were now beating…
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