Torchwood: The Men Who Sold The World

by Adams, Guy

Mills walked down the short flight of stone steps, walked up to Gleason and saluted.

  Gleason smiled and gave a gentle salute back. ‘Why the ceremony, Mills?’ he asked. ‘You got a proclamation to make?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’ Mills loosened slightly. ‘Sort of, sir. I’ve thought about our current situation, and I’ve decided I can no longer be a part of this unit, sir.’

  ‘Oh, really?’ Gleason stepped in close, wanting to see how long it would take to break the kid’s confidence. ‘Too good for us?’

  ‘I just don’t believe in our current course of action, sir,’ Mills replied. ‘When I enlisted in this army, I did so with a set of beliefs and morals that I have tried to stand by ever since. I believe our current actions to compromise those beliefs. Therefore I cannot continue.’

  Gleason nodded and smiled. ‘Practise that little speech, Corporal?’

  Mills hesitated, not wanting to give a truthful answer and undercut himself.

  Gleason shook his head. ‘So what are you going to do now?’

  ‘Sir?’

  ‘Well it’s all very well making your little speech, drawing your line in the sand, but what’s the next step?’

  Mills thought for a second. ‘I’ll leave, sir.’

  ‘You’ll leave? You’ll just up and stroll out of here, will you? And what will you tell people about us?’

  ‘I will denounce your actions, sir.’ Mills realised he was likely damning his own future. ‘Though obviously I can’t stop you,’ he added, ‘and if you were gone from here by the time I reported in…’

  Gleason laughed. ‘That’s it? Seriously?’ He began to stroll around Mills, circling the young man. ‘So basically, you want a free pass? You want to be able to stroll out of here and resume your life as normal. You can’t stay with us because we compromise your oh-so-stringent beliefs, but those beliefs aren’t strong enough for you to man up and stand by them?’

  ‘Sir?’

  ‘Don’t call me “sir”, Mills,’ said Gleason. ‘If you’re not willing to follow me, then you shouldn’t give me the credit of rank.’

  ‘I just—’

  Gleason punched him in the kidneys, and Mills dropped to his knees.

  ‘If your principles are so damned strong, Mills,’ Gleason continued, ‘you should be willing to fight for them. You shouldn’t just walk out of here, you should grow a pair and try and stop me.’

  He kicked Mills in the back, sending the young man face-first into the dust of the cellar floor. Mills, realising he had to fight unless he wanted to stay in the dirt, rolled over and got back to his feet, ready to swing a punch. He wasn’t fast enough. Gleason got there before him, hitting him on the side of the face and driving him back down to his knees.

  ‘That’s better, soldier!’ Gleason shouted. ‘Fight for what you believe in!’

  Mills roared, got to his feet and charged at Gleason, wrapping his arms around the man’s midsection and shoving him back against the far wall. The old soldier crashed into a rotting wine rack, and an explosion of dust and wood fragments erupted around him.

  Mills stared at Gleason. He couldn’t quite believe what he’d just done.

  Gleason, still lying on his back, looked up at him and slowly shook his head. ‘That’s it? One sign of life and then all over?’ Slowly he got to his feet. ‘Looks like you’ve learned nothing in this unit, kid,’ he said, ‘and you only get one free shot.’

  Faster than Mills could react, Gleason swung his leg at Mills’ knee and there was a sickening crack as the leg folded backwards. Mills screamed as he toppled over, and Gleason aimed another kick at the boys stomach, winding him and silencing the noise.

  Gleason looked over to Mulroney. ‘Didn’t want to help an old man?’

  Mulroney smiled. ‘Like you needed it, Colonel.’

  Gleason looked down at Mills, retching in the dust. ‘Looks like we’ve got ourselves a test subject.’

  Shaeffer had heard the shouting coming from the cellar. They all had.

  ‘What the hell’s he doing down there?’ he said, looking to Leonard and Ellroy.

  Leonard shrugged. ‘Who knows?’

  Mills screamed, and Shaeffer looked at the other two imploringly. ‘You just going to sit there?’

  ‘The Colonel can handle it,’ said Ellroy.

  Shaeffer shook his head. ‘So that’s it, is it? That’s the way you’re going to play this now? Screw Mills?’

  He ran towards the cellar and then stopped. With Mulroney and Gleason there, alongside several crates of high-end weaponry, there wasn’t much he could do. Would it really help Mills if he burst in there and got himself killed? Wasn’t it better to take this opportunity to run? The phone was in his pocket – he hadn’t dared leave it anywhere in case the others searched his stuff, and it stayed with him even when he slept. What else did he need? His gun. He wasn’t going anywhere without that.

  He went to the empty room he had been using to sleep in and grabbed his handgun. Standard-issue SIG Sauer P226, he checked the magazine, a full complement of twenty 9mm Parabellum cartridges. Parabellum, he thought, from the Latin ‘prepare for war’. Damn right.

  He tucked the gun into his jeans and pulled a shirt loose over his T-shirt so that it was covered. He looked over to the other bedroll in the room. It was Mills’s.

  ‘Shit,’ Shaeffer sighed. ‘Shit, shit, shit…’

  He left the room, glancing across the hall to make sure Leonard and Ellroy were staying put. They were playing cards, Leonard’s back to the door and Ellroy out of sight inside the room. Sloppy boys, thought Shaeffer. I could just stroll in there and shoot the pair of you. Maybe he should. No, this didn’t have to go that far, at least not yet. They’d chosen their sides, but maybe they would change their minds once things really got out of hand.

  He made his way downstairs, keeping to the edges of the steps and trying to be as silent as possible.

  He hesitated in the hallway. The front door was right there, he could be through it and away without anyone knowing. Who knew how much of a head start he could get if he just ran now?

  Then there came the renewed sound of Mills in pain. Quieter now, with a pleading tone.

  Shaeffer really wished he hadn’t heard that.

  He walked towards the kitchen and the entrance to the wine cellar, pulling out his gun and gripping it tightly in his hand as he crept closer and closer to the door.

  He paused for a second, his hand resting lightly on the handle. From inside there came the low hum of something electronic then a plosive coughing sound. Shaeffer remembered that sound only too well; last time he’d heard it, it had been his hand on the trigger. Opening the door, he pointed his gun down the stairs and slowly descended a couple of steps. A wheezing noise rose up to meet him. It was coming from a patch of darkness between the light thrown from the kitchen behind him and the oil lamps in the cellar below. A no man’s land of shadow between two worlds.

  ‘Mills?’ Shaeffer shouted, almost ready to bolt and to hell with the young soldier. ‘If you’re there, then come on, I’ll cover you.’

  ‘That you, Shaeffer?’ said Gleason, coming to the edge of the light from the oil lamps and looking up the stairs. Shoot him, said a voice in Shaeffer’s head, just gun him down and we can make all this go away. Gleason was unarmed, looking up at Shaeffer with a half-smile. ‘You going to be a problem?’ he asked. ‘Like Mills?’

  The wheezing sound returned, and Shaeffer looked down as something began to drag itself up the steps towards him. As it came into the light he recognised part of it as Mills: one side of its malformed face had the young soldier’s features, one of its arms had the two stripes of his Corporal rank. But the other side… It was as if there was a dividing line running all the way down the soldier’s body, one half was normal the other shrunken and rotted. The aged part of his face was a mess of desiccated skin and when it howled, turning a milky eye towards Shaeffer, yellow teeth fell from between black lips and scattered on cold stone steps like loose change.


  ‘My aim was off,’ said Gleason.

  A gunshot rang out, and Shaeffer ducked as the bricks to one side of him shattered, a bullet having just missed him.

  ‘So was mine,’ said Mulroney from the shadows, throwing his gun to Gleason. Shaeffer fired two rounds at Gleason, but they were loosed in panic and he missed. Gleason moved out of sight, and Shaeffer pulled himself back through the open doorway. He slammed the door shut but there was no key, no way of locking it from the outside. He ran as two more shots splintered the wood of the door at head height.

  No head start, he thought, no such luck for you. He ran through the hall to the front door and opened it as he heard boots running across the floorboards upstairs.

  Outside he circled the building, moving to the rear where the windows were boarded up. At least that way they wouldn’t have a line of sight on him from the house.

  Hopefully they wouldn’t risk shooting at him out here in the open, he thought running as fast as he could towards the external wall.

  As he reached it and vaulted himself up over it a shot skinned his shoulder. That answers that then, he thought, dropping to the ground and running as fast as he could.

  Eight

  Rex parked the hire car at the end of the track leading to the Hernandez House. If Gleason and his unit were at the address in the Cuban’s pocket then he didn’t really want to drive up to their front door in his little Renault. Size of the thing, they’d probably pick it up and throw it at him.

  He wasn’t altogether convinced they would be, though. If they wanted him dead, they were a crew of trained soldiers, why hadn’t one of them come and attempted the job? Why hire local muscle? It seemed pointless. Still, whoever had hired the man, Rex was happy to meet them, if only to offer them a friendly punch in the face.

  On the other hand, he could be strolling into somewhere that had no bearing whatsoever, a random address the Cuban had had cause to visit. No matter, it was the only lead he had to follow, so follow it he would.

  The track was open with no real cover. Rex moved off into the undergrowth, circling around the old house so he could approach it from the rear. He moved at a crouch, gun in hand. It wouldn’t look good if he turned out to be sneaking around the garden of a perfectly blameless resident, but he’d rather be embarrassed than dead.

  He reached the rear porch. Despite its poor condition, he could tell it was lived in. The trash bin was fresh, flies circling the remains of food packaging. A half-empty glass of iced tea sat on a foldout table, a tatty deckchair placed next to it. Someone just stepped inside, maybe?

  Rex broke cover, keeping close to the building as he slowly climbed the couple of steps. As he put his weight down on the old wooden boards they creaked and, before he could stop himself, one foot went right through. Rex just about stifled a yell as the wood cut along his ankle and shin. He squatted down, keeping his eye on the house as he placed his gun on the floor, put both hands flat on the boards and levered his foot free. He just managed to keep his shoe.

  ‘Nice and smooth’ he muttered. ‘Lucky not to have my ass shot off.’

  Treading more cautiously now, he moved to the back door. A rickety frame covered in a mosquito net restricted his view through the open door. He kept his shoulder to the wall of the house as he gently pulled it open and stuck his head and gun through the gap. Lying on the faded linoleum of the kitchen floor was an old woman, mouth wide open so the gathering flies could dip.

  Rex stepped inside, moved over and checked her pulse. Nothing. He lifted a heavy arm, still supple, and still quite warm. She hadn’t been dead long.

  He moved out of the kitchen and into the small front room. A large, cross-stitch picture of Jesus, yellow-cotton sunbeams framing his holy head, stood on the far wall, surveying the state of the rest of the room. Surely it would test even this man’s alleged forgiveness, the place was a dump. A brimming ashtray held cigar butts, like stubby brown dog turds, a pair of easy chairs supported little but dust. A rug, draped across the wooden floor, had several holes in it where the threads had worn through.

  Rex moved to the far end of the room where a staircase climbed up to the next floor.

  Keeping his gun on the move, he ascended the steps, treading carefully in case of unreliable boards and came out onto a small landing with two rooms leading off it. The first was the old lady’s bedroom, everything was nicotine-stained lace and faded floral wallpaper.

  Next door was a kid’s room, a handful of toys on the floor, a few posters on the wall. Lying on the small bed was a young boy. Rex, knowing what he was going to find, reached for a pulse and found none. The boy’s face was pained, teeth and lips pulled back in a rictus. Whatever had killed him had done so quickly but painfully. There was no sign of any external wound, so Rex had to assume poison. He looked around and saw a half-full glass of iced tea, just as there had been downstairs. Rex picked it up and sniffed it. There was a chemical odour there, beneath the sugar and lemon. He put the glass back down and went downstairs. Had the Cuban killed them before coming to see him? If so, why? Rex found it hard to imagine that either the boy or the old woman could have presented a threat.

  He heard a car coming up the track. Keeping back, peering past the old net curtains, he saw an old man stepping out of a taxi a few feet away. The taxi turned off its engine and stayed put as the old man made his way down the track to the old house. He was dressed smartly, a light grey suit and tie, a panama hat to keep the sun from his eyes. The old man walked up to the house, climbed the couple of front steps and walked over to a rickety-looking swing chair on the far end of the porch. He pulled a handkerchief from his breast pocket and whipped away a little of the dust from the chair’s seat. It was half a job, it was dirtier than anything less than an axe could fix. Nonetheless, he pulled a contented face and sat down, the springs crying out as if he had kicked them.

  ‘I know you’re in there, Mr Matheson,’ he said. ‘Might I suggest you come out in the fresh air. The smell in there is quite beyond me, I’m afraid.’

  Rex thought about it for a second then moved to the front door and let himself out.

  ‘Much better,’ said Mr Wynter. ‘I’d offer you a seat next to me, but I’m not sure this thing would take both our weights.’

  ‘That’s fine,’ said Rex. ‘I’ll stand.’ He moved beyond the swing seat so that the driver of the cab wouldn’t have a clear line of sight on him. Just in case.

  They looked at one another for a while, summing each other up.

  ‘You can call me Mr Wynter,’ the old man said eventually. ‘I work for the government.’

  ‘Whose?’

  ‘Yours.’

  ‘Well, that’s a relief.’

  ‘Indeed, Mr Matheson. I am employed as something of a free agent. I clean up other people’s mess.’

  ‘Lot of that around here,’ said Rex, nodding towards the house. ‘That you?’

  ‘I’m not one for witnesses.’

  ‘That include me?’

  ‘Of course. But not yet.’

  ‘Maybe I should just shoot you now then, make life easier for me down the line.’

  ‘Mr Matheson, I have cradled the leaking brains of presidents in my bare hands, do you really think you’ve got what it takes to intimidate me?’

  ‘You’re the one offering threats.’

  ‘I was aiming for a disarming honesty.’

  Rex twitched his gun. ‘You failed. Whose mess are you clearing up?’

  ‘Oh, the usual mistakes of government. Nothing that need concern you in detail. Certain equipment was purchased; said equipment is now in enemy hands.’

  ‘Colonel Gleason.’

  Mr Wynter inclined his head in agreement. ‘I’m just here to make sure that everything we have paid for is accountable and that anyone who has seen it doesn’t live to talk about it.’

  ‘You on your own?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Then good luck. I don’t imagine you’ll have any more luck scaring Gleason than you do me.’
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  ‘I’m not trying to scare you, Mr Matheson, it’s not my way. You’re not an idiot, and I choose not to treat you like one. I am here doing my job. Right now you are more of a help than a hindrance. When that changes, then you are a loose end and I will kill you.’

  ‘Unless I kill you first.’

  ‘Indeed. Always a possibility. In the meantime, we will each get on with our business and go about the saving of innocents in our own way.’

  ‘What’s to stop me just calling in my superiors and having you put away?’

  ‘The more people you tell about me, the more people will eventually disappear. You’re not a naive man.’

  ‘Just an incredulous one. I don’t believe every spooky old guy that tells me he’s the ultimate assassin.’

  ‘Then ring up your delightful watch analyst, Esther, and see how long she lives after you discuss matters with her.’

  Mr Wynter got up and brushed off the seat of his suit pants. ‘Anyway, I thought it only polite for us to meet.’

  From the Hernandez House there came the sound of gunshots. Muted but recognisable.

  ‘Ah,’ said Mr Wynter. ‘I think you’re about to get busy.’ He fished in his suit pocket for Penelope Lupé’s cellphone. ‘I’ve decided to give you this.’

  Rex took it. ‘Why?’

  ‘I’m feeling helpful.’

  There was another gunshot, in the open air this time. Rex moved across the porch, eyes trained towards the source of the noise. He jumped down to the track.

  Mr Wynter walked back towards his cab. ‘See you again, Mr Matheson,’ he said. ‘Once more, anyway.’

  Nine

  ‘I got him,’ said Mulroney.

  ‘You barely winged him,’ Gleason retorted. ‘More shirt than bone.’

  Behind them, Ellroy and Leonard appeared, carbines in hand.

  ‘Oh, look,’ said Mulroney. ‘It’s the cavalry.’ He ran into the garden, sprinting towards the far wall where Shaeffer had fallen.

  ‘What’s happening,’ Leonard asked.

  ‘Shaeffer flipped,’ said Gleason. ‘Killed Mills and then ran.’