Torchwood: The Men Who Sold The World

by Adams, Guy

  ‘Killed Mills?’ said Ellroy

  ‘You heard,’ Gleason replied.

  Mulroney reached the wall, jumped up and straddled it, gun in hand. He turned back towards them and shook his head.

  Gleason beckoned him back. ‘We’re packing up and getting out, now.’ He turned to Ellroy. ‘Get the truck prepped. You…’ turning to Leonard, ‘clear upstairs. Quick, the clock’s ticking.’

  *

  Rex had got to the gates of the Hernandez House in time to see Mulroney returning through the front door, and Ellroy pushing past him and heading towards one of the outbuildings. After a few minutes, there was the sound of an engine and a truck reversed out in front of the old house.

  ‘On the run again,’ Rex muttered, keeping tight to the wall and watching through the gates. Question was, what should he do about it? The truck was now blocking the front of the old house and providing cover for the men that moved behind it. Rex could see that they were loading their belongings into the rear of the truck. A few army packs, then a wooden crate, followed by another. There was a pause for a couple of minutes, then two more crates appeared. These were loaded aboard, two of the men climbing in behind them. There was a clattering of metal as they pulled the corrugated back shutter of the truck closed.

  ‘I’ll get the gates,’ said the eldest – Gleason himself, Rex presumed – holding out his hands for the keys, which the driver yanked out of the pocket of his jeans and threw to him. The driver climbed into the front of the truck and followed slowly behind Gleason. Rex moved along the wall, clearing the far corner so that he was out of sight when the gates swung open and Gleason stepped out. He didn’t bother replacing the chain, just threw the keys into the grass and climbed into the truck’s cab. As it pulled away, Rex hoped to hell that nobody was looking in the wing mirrors and ran up behind it.

  The truck didn’t draw to a halt and nobody came out to shoot him, so he guessed he’d got away with it.

  The truck moved slowly along the mud track and it was easy for Rex to keep up. He climbed up the rear shutter, wedging his foot in a loop of plastic hanging from the handle and forcing his fingers into the gaps between the metal slats. It was far from the safest way to travel but he could just about hold on as the truck pulled onto the proper road.

  The vehicle began to gather speed, and Rex could feel himself slipping so he pushed himself up higher and gripped the edge of the roof. Pulling himself up, he slid onto the roof of the truck, gritting his teeth as it bounced along the uneven tarmac. Once there he lay as flat as he could, hoping he hadn’t made enough noise for the people inside to be suspicious. If he could stay where he was, he should be safe until they arrived at their destination. Then… well, he’d make it up as he went along. As a plan, it hadn’t killed him yet.

  He spread his arms and legs out, gripping the edge of the roof with his fingertips and trying to ride out the bumps without falling off or slamming against the roof.

  The truck pulled up at a set of traffic lights and he relaxed for a moment, letting the cramps in his muscles ease off.

  Then the cellphone Mr Wynter had given him began to ring. Loudly.

  He snatched for it, hand caught in the pocket of his jeans as he tried to tug it free. Inside the truck, he heard raised voices and, peering over the edge of the roof, he saw Gleason’s head appear out of the passenger window before pulling back inside. The truck engine revved and it pulled out into the oncoming traffic surrounded by the blare of car horns. Rex grabbed the edge of the roof as tightly as he could, his body spinning as the momentum tried to pull him from the roof. The truck began to speed up, overtaking the other cars on the roads, which swerved to accommodate it as it reared up behind them. Rex could guess what was coming. The brakes slammed on and Rex dived for the rear of the truck, grabbing the edge of the roof to stop himself from flying off the front and into the road. The metal cut into his fingers as the force threatened to yank his arms out of their sockets. He rolled forward and jumped down onto the road, his legs buckling beneath him. He pushed himself up, aware of the traffic coming towards him. A dirty, black Chrysler was bearing down on him and he jumped as it drove straight into the rear of the truck, unable to stop in time. Rex rolled over the hood falling to the road on the other side, getting straight to his feet and running towards the sidewalk, car horns and the shouts of drivers erupting all around him.

  The truck, ignoring the Chrysler, drove on.

  Rex limped his way off the street. He couldn’t follow the truck on foot and the longer he hung around, the greater chance he had of the police turning up and arresting him.

  Once off the main road, he sank down onto the sidewalk, waving his bleeding palms in the air. He wanted to put his whole body on ice. He looked at the cellphone. ‘Missed Call’ it announced. ‘Oscar’. The penny dropped that this was Penelope’s phone, taken by Wynter when he had killed her. Good timing, Shaeffer, you asshole, he thought. Then decided to call back and tell him in person.

  Mr Wynter overtook Gleason’s truck in the taxi and looked at the man’s profile. His face was deep red, jaw clenched. His hand gripped the bracket on the rear-view mirror as if it were Rex Matheson’s neck. Mr Wynter chuckled. Gleason was not a man who liked his plans interfered with.

  ‘Go straight to the harbour,’ he told the taxi driver.

  Shaeffer lay still in the undergrowth at the side of the road. The truck drove past, and he saw Gleason in the passenger seat. Shaeffer kept his head down until he could no longer hear the engine.

  After he was sure it was clear, he got to his feet and climbed back onto the road. He dabbed at his shoulder with his fingers. Nothing but a shallow cut, the bullet hadn’t even nicked the bone.

  He pulled the phone out of his pocket, carefully sliding the battery into place and holding down the power button. After a few seconds, the phone booted up and the screen came on. Impatient, Shaeffer shook the phone as it slowly initialised the contacts list, found a phone signal, welcomed him to the local roaming network and finally received a text message telling him how extortionate the call rates would be. To hell with it, he thought, it’s not my bill.

  He called Penelope’s number and held on, waiting for her to pick up. It went to the answer machine.

  ‘It’s me,’ he said. ‘Call me right back.’ He hung up and carried on walking.

  After a couple of minutes the phone rang. He looked at the screen, saw it was Penelope and answered it.

  ‘These people want to kill me, Penelope,’ he said, ‘so answer your damn phone when it rings. Where were you?’

  ‘Having the same people trying to kill me,’ Rex replied. ‘Thanks to you.’

  Shaeffer stopped walking in surprise, looked at the phone to confirm he hadn’t misread the caller ID. ‘Who the hell is this?’ he asked. ‘Where’s Penelope?’

  ‘Dead. Sorry, you know her?’

  ‘No, I just—’

  ‘Then I’m not sorry. She died because you called her, asshole, so it’s on you.’

  ‘Hey, no…’ Shaeffer couldn’t believe this guy. ‘I was just… I wanted to do the right thing, you know? Screw you! How is she dead?’

  ‘Some people don’t like that you and Gleason are off the map. Where are you?’

  ‘I’m…’ Shaeffer looked around. ‘Truth is, I don’t know. Not far from the house where we were holed up, heading into town.’

  ‘You on the main road?’

  ‘Yeah, you know it?’

  ‘Just driven down it, pretty sure I can back track. Tell you what, can you hotwire a car?’

  ‘CIA Special Operations, pal, I can start a car by winking at it.’

  ‘I just got shivers, you’re so cool. Head back the way you came, top of the track is my hire car. If somebody even cooler than you hasn’t stolen it already. Can’t miss it, looks like it came free with a pack of cereal.’

  ‘Hey!’ Shaeffer shouted. ‘You’re being pretty up yourself for a guy that wants my help.’

  ‘I could say the same thing abou
t you. Now come down the road and pick me up, I’ll be the bleeding black guy on the roadside flipping you the bird.’

  ‘Keep talking like this, I’ll run you over.’

  ‘In that? I’d stop it with my foot. Now get on down here before we lose Gleason for good.’

  Shaeffer found the car and put the passenger window through with a brick. ‘How’s that for super cool?’ he said, reaching inside to unlock the doors.

  He moved around to the driver’s side, brushed away the small amount of broken glass that had fallen his side, got in and reached under the steering wheel. He pulled back the panel beneath and yanked out a bundle of wires, peeling them apart so he could see what he was looking at. He stripped back the two red wires and fused them together, then grabbed the brown ignition wire. He stripped it back slightly and touched the exposed piece to the joined red wires. The engine roared. Shaeffer revved the car to stop it from stalling and tucked the wires away as safely as he could.

  He reversed onto the road and drove back the way he had come. Within a few minutes he was out of the rundown area and back amongst the more frantic traffic. He saw, exactly as described, a battered-looking black guy with his middle finger raised towards him. Reluctantly, and to a hail of Spanish curses as he cut across traffic, he pulled over.

  ‘Thought you’d piss some folks off, huh?’ said Rex, waving to the drivers as he opened the door.

  ‘Not my fault Cubans drive like they’re at a fairground. Now shut up and get in.’

  ‘Well, see, I’d like to,’ Rex replied, ‘’cept someone decided to put broken glass all over my seat.’

  ‘Fat ass like yours you won’t even feel it.’

  Rex didn’t even honour that one with a reply, just scooted the biggest pieces off the seat and climbed in.

  ‘You know how to get to the harbour?’ he asked as Shaeffer pulled into the traffic.

  ‘No idea.’

  ‘You came from there.’ Rex held his hands in the air, exasperated. ‘When you were on a boat. That thing that sails through water so your feet don’t get wet. Remember?’

  ‘It was dark and I was riding in the back of the truck, OK?’

  Rex shook his head. ‘Just one break,’ he said, ‘that’s all I ask for, one decent break…’

  ‘There!’ Shaeffer pointed at a signpost across the way and followed it. ‘Initiative.’

  ‘Yeah, well, I hope your initiative is still working when we get there, I’d like to see how it works out in a gunfight.’

  ‘Gunfight? The whole reason I called in you guys was so that I could get out safely, now you want me to go running straight back at them?’

  ‘Given what you’ve told us about the weapons they’re carrying, I’m not inclined to let them sail out of here.’

  ‘Well, what about back-up?’

  ‘Back up? We’re the CIA. In Cuba. You figure out the logistics. If you’re that scared, maybe you should just sit in the car while daddy goes and takes care of some business.’

  ‘I’ve seen a hell of a lot more combat than you, asshole. But you don’t know Gleason and, like you say, that’s some serious weaponry he’s got his hands on.’

  ‘All the more reason we stop him before we lose him for good.’

  Shaeffer gave up arguing and kept driving. By the time they arrived at the harbour, late afternoon had turned into evening and the light had become dull, poured thick over the boats, shipping crates and people.

  ‘Can you remember where you moored the boat at least?’ Rex asked.

  ‘The public moorings are on the far side,’ Shaeffer replied, steering the car carefully between the rows of storage crates. ‘We could take the road, but I assumed you’d prefer the stealthy approach?’

  ‘Stealthy is good,’ Rex agreed as Shaeffer manoeuvred the car around the unloading freights.

  *

  Mulroney reversed the truck as close to the mooring as possible. ‘Speed or subtlety?’ he asked Gleason.

  ‘Screw subtlety,’ Gleason replied. ‘Let’s just get out of here.’

  ‘Roger that,’ Mulroney replied, jumping down from the cab and banging on the side of the truck.

  Ellroy and Leonard climbed down as Mulroney walked over to their boat. He hoped it had been refuelled as promised; Gleason had known they might need to leave in a hurry. He hopped over the side and jogged to the bridge, turning on the engine and checking the dials. ‘Juiced up and ready to go,’ he shouted across to the quayside, turning off the engine and returning to the deck where he lowered the lightweight gangway so Ellroy and Leonard could clamber aboard with the first crate.

  Gleason had moved to one side, looking around for signs of trouble. With Shaeffer loose, they needed to regroup before their position was totally compromised.

  The harbour was relatively quiet, just a few of the big freight companies shifting pallets to the shore.

  He moved back to the rear of the truck and helped Mulroney with the second crate.

  ‘Where next, Colonel?’ Mulroney asked.

  ‘Time to go home,’ Gleason said. ‘Take the fight to them. The faster we go at this, the better chance of success.’

  ‘Never give an enemy time to react?’

  ‘Precisely.’

  Ellroy and Leonard brought the third crate aboard and Mulroney and Gleason returned for the fourth.

  It was as they were stepping back down from the rear of the truck that they heard the sound of a car engine roaring towards them.

  ‘There,’ said Shaeffer, pointing towards where Gleason’s unit were loading up their small boat.

  ‘OK,’ said Rex. ‘Pull over and we’ll sneak up on foot.’

  ‘Sneak up, my ass,’ said Shaeffer, dropping the car down a gear and slamming his foot on the accelerator.

  ‘What the hell are you doing?’ Rex shouted as the car sped towards the rear of the truck.

  ‘Banking on the element of surprise,’ Shaeffer replied. ‘Feel free to start shooting at them.’

  Rex yanked down his window, leaned out and tried to aim a couple of rounds at Gleason. They went wide, embedding themselves in the packing crate he was holding with Mulroney.

  ‘Where did you learn to shoot?’ Shaeffer shouted.

  ‘Somewhere stationary!’

  Shaeffer aimed the car between the truck and the boat, forcing Ellroy off the quayside and into the water while Gleason and Mulroney ran back inside the truck still carrying the crate. As the car passed, Leonard was the only one to get a shot in, a couple of rounds taking out the rear windshield and embedding themselves in the dashboard.

  Shaeffer slammed the steering wheel hard to the right and yanked the handbrake. The car went into a spin past a row of crates, screeching to a halt behind the cove.

  Rex staggered out into a fug of burned rubber and brake fluid. ‘I’d shoot at them,’ he said, raising his gun ‘but I may need to throw up first.’

  ‘Could have been worse,’ said Shaeffer. ‘I thought I was going to roll it.’

  They took up position behind the crates, looking for a clear shot. Leonard had jumped aboard the boat and was using the bridge house for cover, while Ellroy had vanished from sight, likely swimming around the boat to come up behind. Gleason and Mulroney were still inside the truck. Short of emptying his magazine blind into the side of it, he couldn’t see what to do about that.

  ‘So much for the element of surprise,’ he said.

  ‘Hold them down long enough the police will show up,’ Shaeffer replied. ‘Reckon we can safely assume we’ve made enough noise for someone to think of calling them.’

  In the back of the truck, Gleason had come to the same conclusion. ‘We need to move now,’ he said, ‘before whoever that is keeps us here long enough for the locals to weigh in.’

  ‘Easier said than done,’ Mulroney replied. ‘You want to make a jump for it?’

  Gleason shook his head. ‘I had something a bit more violent in mind.’

  He unhooked a crowbar from a rail in the back of the truck and prised
open the single crate they had left. Rummaging through the packaging, he pulled out a short metal pole surrounded by four thin pipes. The whole finished in a black sphere and a selection of wires to which someone had attached a switch.

  ‘Item 2A,’ he said. ‘Projected energy weapon.’

  ‘Payload?’

  ‘Let’s find out.’

  Rex and Shaeffer were just considering a break from cover when the entire harbour seemed to self-destruct. A row of crates not twenty feet away burst into flames, and they had no choice but to run.

  ‘Fall back!’ he heard Shaeffer shouting. Yeah, thought Rex, no kidding.

  They aimed for the car but the sound of compressed metal and tinkling glass soon robbed them of that plan. Rex caught a glimpse of the little vehicle floating skywards, a ball of flames and blackening paintwork

  All around them, stacks of pallets split and burned. Steel shipping containers punctured with a resounding clang, sending hot shrapnel into the air. Rex was aware of other people, dock workers, running alongside them as they tried to make it to safety. What the hell ordnance has that guy got? he wondered. Is he firing grenades? Missiles? Nuclear frigging warheads?

  Explosion after explosion rang out, and all thoughts vanished. Rex’s ears were whining, his head vacant and dreamlike, as he surrendered to the rational need to run and keep running.

  Sirens began to sound, but his hearing was so hammered he wouldn’t have heard them even if the emergency vehicles were running him over. All was distant and hollow, as if his head was deep underwater.

  Every now and then he caught a glimpse of Shaeffer beside him, both of them running until they ran out of ground or luck.

  His skin burned, seared by the fire on all sides.

  Oh God, he thought, jumping up onto the road and still going, I think this is actually it. I die in confusion, just another terror statistic, a name on the scrolling bar of an enthusiastic piece of news reportage. This is the sort of event you should only see long after the fact, diluted through cheap mobile-phone cameras or long-distance aerial shots. It’s the sort of thing you discuss with your friends, disassociated from it by the extension of the TV screen. You should never actually be in it. You should never be able to feel the flames on your face. Nobody could feel that and actually live.