Torchwood: The Men Who Sold The World (20 page)

‘So,’ said Rex as they reached the front lawn of the White House, ‘if you were going to attack, which direction would you come from?’ He began to circle the building.

‘I take it the air force are vigilant on the no-fly zone?’

‘Nobody gets anywhere near the air above our heads on a normal day,’ Rex replied. ‘I think we
can safely assume that goes double for today. Aggressive-looking moths are likely to draw missile fire right now.’

Rex’s cellphone began to ring. He tapped his headset to answer it.

‘Good morning, Mr Matheson,’ the caller said. ‘May I suggest you and Mr Shaeffer head around the back of the building. I think you’ll find your target is planning to approach from that direction.’

‘Who the hell is this?’ asked Rex, pulling his cell out of his jacket pocket to check the caller ID. The number was withheld.

Whoever it was hung up.

‘What?’ asked Shaeffer.

‘We need to check out the rear,’ said Rex, breaking into a run.

‘Says who?’ asked Shaeffer as they ran.

‘I’m not sure,’ Rex admitted, ‘but unless it was Gleason himself trying to throw us off the scent…’

‘Not really his style.’

‘No, so we may as well take the tip and to hell with where it comes from for now.’

As they cleared the rear of the building, they both saw Gleason walking slowly towards them.

‘Jesus,’ said Rex, ‘can you believe the balls on this guy? He just walks right in?’ He drew his weapon and aimed it at Gleason. ‘Drop the rifle!’ he shouted.

Gleason looked towards him. ‘You can see me?’

‘Yeah, clever huh? Now drop the gun or I put a hole in you.’

‘No,’ Gleason replied, pointing the rifle at Rex and firing. Rex fell backwards for a moment before vanishing, his gun falling to the soft grass with a thud.

Shaeffer went next, his skin crumbling even as he raised his gun to fire. Dead fingers fell to dust, no longer able to hold the weight of the gun. He fell forward and exploded on the ground.

Gleason turned the rifle back towards the White House and fired.

As it crumbled, Mr Wynter watched from the shade of a distant tree, the Ytraxorian rifle in one hand and his cellphone in the other.

‘Well now,’ he said. ‘That wasn’t much use, was it?’

With a sigh, he turned the gun on himself and fired once more.

‘We can recognise your man on sight!’ insisted Rex, exasperated at the security services’ lack of interest in either his or Shaeffer’s presence.

‘Thanks to a miraculous new gadget called a camera so can my men!’ Scott replied before his earpiece crackled and he shut up in order to take the call.

‘But sir…’ he said before shutting up again as the person on the other end continued talking. ‘Understood,’ said Scott eventually. ‘OK sir, every courtesy, yes.’

He turned back to Rex and Shaeffer. ‘Now you two are really pissing me off,’ he said. ‘I’ve just had orders to grant you full access. So,’ he gestured towards the White House, ‘knock yourselves out. Just don’t get in the way of me or my men.’

‘Thank you,’ said Rex with a big smile. ‘It’s been so great working with such a cooperative guy. A real pleasure.’

‘Go and hide in the bushes,’ Scott shouted after them. ‘I hope my men shoot you by accident.’

‘Nice guy,’ said Rex as they made their way through the President’s Park towards the White House. ‘Maybe I could apply to join the secret service instead? I’d love it if he was my boss.’

The area was thick with uniformed security services, gathered together into groups or walking in pairs around the periphery keeping their eyes peeled for someone suspicious. But Gleason wasn’t suspicious, was he? He wasn’t even here…

He walked slowly, not even wanting to run in case that was enough to lose the effect of the perception filter.

As he got closer, he felt the fronds of the Ytraxorian gun close around his hands, that electric tingle spreading up to his elbows.

Was it as easy as this? he wondered. No doubt once he started firing, people would start to pay more attention. But by then it would be far too late.

Was there nobody to stop him?

Mr Wynter, standing only a few feet away, kept pressing the trigger on the Ytaxor gun but found it refused to respond.

‘What’s wrong with you, you ridiculous weapon?’ Wynter moaned.

It fizzed in his hands and he felt a mental image crystallise in his head.

‘I can’t shoot him while he’s holding the rifle as I’ll destroy the rifle… OK, and is this reticence a desire to avoid paradoxes or simply self-preservation?’

He watched as Gleason shot Rex and Shaeffer again and then turned his fire towards the White House itself.

‘This is getting tiresome,’ he sighed, turning the weapon on himself and pulling at the fronds.

‘Good morning, Mr Matheson,’ the caller said in Rex’s ear. ‘May I suggest you and Mr Shaeffer head around the back of the building. I think you’ll find your target is planning to approach from that direction.’

‘Who the hell is this?’ asked Rex. He pulled the cell out of his pocket to check the caller ID. The number was withheld.

‘What?’ asked Shaeffer.

‘We need to check out the rear,’ said Rex, beginning to run.

‘Says who?’ asked Shaeffer following on behind.

‘I’m not sure,’ Rex admitted. ‘But unless it was Gleason himself trying to throw us off the scent…’

‘Not really his style.’

‘No, so we may as well take the tip and to hell with where it comes from for now.’

At the rear of the building, they saw Gleason walking towards them.

Rex raised his gun and shouted a warning to Gleason to stop.

‘Just shoot him!’ came the sound of an old man’s voice and, taking his eyes off Gleason for a moment, Rex saw the old man he had met in Cuba, the one who had called himself Wynter. In fact he saw him time and time again, stood under one of the trees, waving at him from just behind Gleason, over by the White House itself… It was as if he was reflected many times over and scattered around on the grass.

Then Rex saw nothing as the pulse from Gleason’s rifle hit him. One second all was black, then there was a flash of light and he was falling.

He hit the dusty ground and moaned, turning onto his back and losing consciousness for a moment.

He woke up. There was a strange man looking at him, a savage… No, not even human, surely? Long hair, animal skins… reaching towards him…

Mr Wynter sat down on the grass, surrounded by the echoes of himself. Time and again he’d tried this, it just wasn’t working.

He needed to go earlier, and to hell with paradoxes…

‘I bet we don’t even get close,’ said Shaeffer as Rex drove along Constitution Avenue. ‘I mean, seriously, security’s going to be so tight right now they’re walking like virgins. You really think we can just roll up and stroll in?’

‘I have charm,’ said Rex.

‘Yeah? Why you never show it to me?’

‘You are not worthy of the Rex Matheson charm. It is a special and beautiful thing, offered only to important people.’

Rex’s cell rang and he tapped at his earpiece to answer the call.

‘Is that Mr Matheson?’

‘Speaking.’

‘Excellent, this is the CIA liaison currently working with the security service teams at the White House. Tell me, are you on your way?’

‘How the hell did you know that?’

‘A call from a Watch Analyst – Esther Drummond?’

Esther had talked…

‘Look,’ said Rex, wanting to try and turn this around before it got awkward, ‘we just wanted to follow through on what we started, you know?’

‘I understand, Rex, no problem, it would be good to have you with us. Could you do me a small favour though?’

‘Name it.’

‘Whereabouts are you?’

‘Constitution Drive, just a few minutes away.’

‘Perfect, could you swing up 17th for me rather than head over via the monument? I need you to follow a car for me.’

Rex looked across to Shaeffer who was mouthing ‘Who is it?’ at him. Rex shrugged. ‘Yeah, I guess.’ He turned onto 17th. ‘What car?’

‘Look to your left, Rex.’ The phone went dead in Rex’s ear as he looked out of his passenger window and made eye contact with Cotter Gleason, staring at him through the blood-spattered window of a compact Ford.

‘What the hell?’ Rex reacted quickly, yanking the wheel to the left and ramming Gleason’s car just as he saw the man raise his arm.

A gunshot punctured the roof of the Ford as Gleason’s aim went high. Rex put his foot on the accelerator, pulled forward in front of the Ford and then slammed on the brakes.

‘Get down!’ he shouted to Shaeffer as Gleason put a bullet through their back windscreen and then followed it with the hood of his Ford.

The two cars slid a little further up 17th and drew to a halt.

Rex climbed out, waving the traffic to keep back
as he trained his handgun on the driver’s seat of the Ford.

But it was empty.

Shaeffer appeared behind him. ‘Where did he go?’ he asked.

‘Beats me,’ Rex replied, circling the car even as the sound of sirens sprang up from a short distance away.

Inside the car, there was Mulroney’s dead body and nothing else.

‘He must have made a run for it,’ said Shaeffer.

‘How?’ asked Rex. ‘He just didn’t have time.’

Shaeffer shrugged. ‘He ain’t there, so how else do you explain it?’

Rex holstered his handgun and waved at the approaching police vehicle. ‘I don’t,’ he admitted.

‘Is that Mr Matheson?’ asked Mr Wynter, walking up 17th and keeping his eye on the traffic

‘Speaking.’

‘Excellent, this is the CIA liaison currently working with the security service teams at the White House. Tell me, are you on your way?’

‘How the hell did you know that?’

‘A call from a Watch Analyst – Esther Drummond?’

Mr Wynter smiled as Rex fell silent for a moment. No doubt he was convinced that he was about to get another ear-bashing from a superior. Not at all, Rex, he thought. In fact you might find your career is about to improve a little.

‘Look,’ said Rex, ‘we just wanted to follow through what we started, you know?’

‘I understand, Rex,’ Mr Wynter replied. ‘No problem. It would be good to have you with us. Could you do me a small favour, though?’

‘Name it.’

‘Whereabouts are you?’

‘Constitution Drive, just a few minutes away.’

‘Perfect, could you swing up 17th for me rather than head over via the monument? I need you to follow a car for me.’

There we are! Mr Wynter saw Gleason’s car come into view, closely followed by Rex.

‘Yeah, I guess,’ said Rex as he came up alongside Gleason. ‘What car?’

‘Look to your left, Rex,’ said Wynter and laughed at the look of surprise on Gleason’s face as he realised who was alongside him.

Gleason tried to shoot but Matheson was too quick, ramming the car and spoiling his aim. He made to pull in front of Gleason.

Now
, thought Wynter, holding the rifle tight to his chest. It crackled inside his mind, finally content with the perfect owner. Do your thing, thought Wynter, a quick hop and then away we go.

He vanished from the sidewalk, reappearing in the back of Gleason’s car just as it slammed into Rex’s car in front. Wynter was thrown against the back of the passenger seat but managed to point the rifle at Gleason who turned just as Wynter fired.

Gleason disappeared leaving Wynter sat in the car on his own. Rex would be on him any second, he had to be quick…

Wynter grabbed the bag of weapons, pulled it close alongside the rifle and vanished, just as Rex stepped out of the car in front.

Rex stared at the empty car, his sidearm raised pointlessly in front of him.

Shaeffer joined him. ‘Where did he go?’ he asked.

‘Beats me,’ said Rex, working his way around the car. He completed the circle, the sound of sirens building as the police pushed their way through the traffic towards them. Inside, there was Mulroney’s dead body, nothing else.

‘He must have made a run for it,’ said Shaeffer.

‘How?’ asked Rex. ‘He just didn’t have time.’

Shaeffer shrugged, ‘He ain’t there, so how else do you explain it?’

Rex holstered his gun and moved towards the approaching police car, yanking his ID from his back pocket. ‘I don’t,’ he admitted.

And that was the fact of things. After all that, chasing Gleason and his men across oceans, all he had to show for it was two dented cars and a dead rogue operative.

His cellphone rang.

‘Well done, Rex,’ said a voice in his ear. ‘This is your good friend Mr Wynter.’

Rex looked around, half-expecting the man to be close by, watching the action from a nearby window perhaps. ‘Where the hell are you?’ he asked.

‘Oh,’ Mr Wynter replied, ‘a long way down the road. And it’s not a road you want to follow, Rex, I assure you. You know, I imagined we would meet again. You know the sort of thing, suitably theatrical, a face-off in a quiet parking lot, or face to face in a diner somewhere…’

‘Name the place.’

‘Oh, I don’t think so. If we did, I’d have to kill you and, believe it or not, I’m happier leaving you alive.’

‘I am cool.’

‘You’re a man who has a small amount of idealism left,’ said Wynter, ‘and, whether you can believe it or not, that impresses me. If there were more people like you, after all, there would be no need for people like me.’

‘And you’d like that?’

‘Yes,’ said Mr Wynter. ‘I actually would. So I leave you with a little gift: a promise to tidy up after myself while I still have the authority to do so. I shall make a few calls, pull in a few favours and ensure that your career is back on track.’

‘I don’t need your help, pal.’

‘In this business? You need all the help you can get. But this will be a small favour, don’t worry – just a little housecleaning of the records. Where you go from there is up to you. Make me proud.’

Wynter chuckled and the phone went dead in Rex’s ear.

‘Make you proud,’ Rex muttered. ‘Asshole.’

With a sigh, he put on his most charming smile and held his hand out towards the advancing police officers.