Torchwood: The Men Who Sold The World (18 page)

‘This will be my final demonstration,’ Gleason continued. ‘One that will strike at the very heart of your corrupt, shadow-puppet government. When we talk again, it will be your one and only chance to make this end. Think about that, and make your decision wisely.’

Gleason nodded, and Mulroney stopped recording.

‘You want me to send it straightaway?’

‘Of course,’ said Gleason. ‘Let them have a few hours to be afraid. Then get some sleep, we’ve got
one hell of a day tomorrow and we’ll need to be sharp.’

‘Roger that,’ Mulroney replied.

The message was sent, received and discussed, nowhere more exhaustively than in a small room in a shabby-looking office block in downtown Washington. The office block was registered to a toy company that specialised in pre-school learning games, but the major shareholders had no interest in colourful plastic bricks or large, wooden animals. They just liked having somewhere innocuous to meet that paid for itself.

‘So what do we do?’ asked the man Mr Wynter would have recognised as his employer. ‘Wait for him to make his move?’

‘Unless your man has any better ideas, I don’t see that we have much choice,’ an older voice replied.

‘Have we no clue as to Gleason’s location?’ asked a woman sat near the window. She was watching her car parked below, convinced that somebody would steal it while she had left it unattended.

‘He must be in the vicinity of Washington,’ said another voice, a young man with a hint of an Irish accent, ‘given his target.’

‘The real question,’ said the older man, ‘is what we do with him when he does make his move. What deal are we willing to offer?’

‘I’ve been thinking about that,’ said Mr Wynter’s employer, ‘and it occurred to me that we might want to offer him a job.’

Rex woke to an overcast Washington morning and a hangover that loitered at the back of his forehead and waited to pounce. His phone was ringing, which, in those first cumbersome moments of waking, seemed entirely unreasonable on its part.

‘Yeah?’

‘Jesus, Rex.’ It was Esther. ‘You sound rough.’

‘Feel it, too. What can I do for you? You got some coffee orders I need to work on? Or maybe some mopping up around Langley?’

‘Mopping up hits it. I shouldn’t be telling you this, officially you’re no longer in the loop, but there’s been another video from Gleason.’

‘Because watching that bastard gloat will improve my morning no end.’

‘There’s something else.’ Esther’s genuine excitement was finally overcoming her insecurities, Rex could hear it in her voice, even over the sound of his own pulsing temples and churning stomach. ‘We’ve had communication from Mulroney. He wants to cut a deal.’

On his way to the shower, Rex woke Shaeffer. He’d let the man stay over, neither of them being sober enough to even conceive of booking a hotel room.

‘Get your head straight,’ he shouted. ‘Make coffee, make breakfast… today will be a good day.’

‘I’m having trouble believing that,’ Shaeffer admitted, rubbing his face. There was a burst of water as the shower came to life, and he shuffled through to the kitchen. He put the coffee machine
on then stuck his head in the cooler. It felt nice in there, he was almost tempted to rest his cheek on a pack of bacon and snooze for a while under the soft orange light. Instead, he decided to see if he could drink all the juice he could find, a challenge as well as a restorative.

By the time Rex got out of the shower, Shaeffer was feeling marginally better. His mouth was no longer filled with what had felt like dead slugs. ‘What’s all the excitement, then?’ he asked.

‘We’ve had contact from Gleason and Mulroney,’ said Rex, ‘
separately
. Gleason is dishing out the usual threats, Mulroney wants out. Looks like we may have a chance to stop this bastard, after all.’

‘What’s the deal?’

‘Mulroney wants immunity and cash, nothing too inventive.’

‘All the more believable. He say why?’

‘He’s convinced Gleason doesn’t want to deal, thinks the power’s gone to his head.’

‘I could believe that, too. So what’s the next step?’

‘The security service is waiting on a location from Mulroney. He’s given them the number of a cellphone that he intends to turn on once he’s ready to be picked up.’

‘What? And he’s just trusting them not to shoot him on sight?’

‘I guess he doesn’t think he has much choice.’

Shaeffer shrugged. ‘Maybe, just doesn’t sound like the Mulroney I know. So what’s this got to do with us? Even if you were still popular with your section chief, which you’re not, this isn’t CIA.’

‘Yeah.’ Rex grabbed some coffee and tried to hide his irritation. ‘But that doesn’t mean the CIA can’t tag along.’

‘Have we at least got an idea what the target will be?’

‘A pretty good one. Remember what you said about striking at the heart of America?’

Shaeffer nodded. Rex turned his phone towards him and played the media file Esther had sent.

‘Wise Men of America,’ said Gleason, staring into the camera, ‘I have once again proven our power over you. Now I come for your leader. Please,’ Gleason smiled, ‘raise your armies, do your best to stop me. But I promise you – within twenty-four hours, he and his loved ones will be dead. That will be my final demonstration. One that will strike at the very heart of your corrupt, shadow-puppet government. When we talk again, it will be your one and only chance to make this end. Think about that, and make your decision wisely.’

The video ended and Rex put his phone away. ‘Not a lot of ambiguity there,’ he said. ‘The nut-job’s planning to assassinate the president.’

Gleason and Mulroney woke early and prepared for the drive into the capital.

Gleason had decided they should take the cottage owners’ car rather than the truck. It was good to keep switching vehicles, and this time he had no intention of taking everything with them. The key was to travel light, get in and out of the theatre of operations and be on the move before the enemy even had time to react. He spent twenty minutes cherry-picking equipment from the weaponry crates, packing them into a long shoulder bag and storing them on the backseat of the car.

‘OK,’ he said to Mulroney, ‘time to get moving.’

Mulroney nodded and reached for the car keys.

‘It’s all right,’ said Gleason. ‘I’ll drive.’

Mulroney thought about arguing but could tell it would be pointless – Gleason was in no mood to negotiate. Today was set in stone. He ran his thumb across the pocket of his jeans, feeling the
solid rectangle of the phone he had stashed there. He’d found it in the house and, like Shaeffer before him, had recognised it for what it was: a slim line of escape. At the moment it was turned off, but if at any point he decided that should change… He now had an escape route.

They drove past Arlington cemetery, and Gleason looked out over the rows and rows of dead soldiers, wondering how many he had put there.

‘You’re quiet this morning,’ said Mulroney, cutting through Gleason’s thoughts and bringing his attention back to the road. ‘Having second thoughts?’

‘Never,’ Gleason replied. ‘Can you say the same?’

Mulroney shrugged. ‘I have doubts,’ he admitted. ‘Of course I do. Who doesn’t when they’re going off to fight?’ Especially when they’re not sure what they’re fighting for, he thought.

Gleason nodded slightly, pushing the car along Memorial Bridge. They cruised over the Potomac River, a morning sun bouncing off the water in crystalline explosions of white light, like the distant flashes of a strafe run in the desert. Gleason imagined the sound of shellfire, the soft crump of ignition and the spray of bricks and earth. He would bring that here. Turn this green and white slice of heritage and navel-gazing into a place of flame and noise, a timely reminder of the reality of war.

‘Can I trust you, Mulroney?’ he asked, his voice deceptively gentle. He had known the man many years and had never had to ask that question. But
now he did. Because there was a look in Mulroney’s eyes, a mixture of fear and deception. It was the look of a man who said what he thought others wanted to hear. Gleason knew that face, had seen it writ large in countless battlefield interrogations. The placatory look of a man who knows his time is almost at hand.

‘Why are you even asking me that?’ asked Mulroney. ‘After all the years we’ve served together you don’t know the answer?’

‘I always did,’ Gleason said quietly. ‘But today’s war is a little different.’

Damn right it is, thought Mulroney, it’s war for the hell of it. He made a snap decision and slipped his hand into his pocket to turn on the phone.

‘We’re outnumbered,’ he said, ‘and they’re prepared for us. We’re fighting for a vague promise of cash. More likely we’ll end up bleeding out in the middle of Constitution Gardens. Yeah, Cotter, this war is different. I thought we were in this for the money! But you don’t care about that, do you?’

‘There are more important things than money.’

‘Yeah,’ Mulroney agreed, ‘there are, and maybe if you asked me to risk my life for them then I would. But this isn’t even about principles, this is just about pulling the trigger for the hell of it. Somewhere – and maybe it’s since you started playing with that freaky goddamn rifle you love so much – you’ve got yourself all turned around. You’ve lost perspective. Cotter, you’re not the man you once were.’ Mulroney paused. ‘Or maybe this
is what you always were,’ he said finally. ‘I don’t know.’

They drove in silence for a moment, Mulroney looking down in his lap, Gleason staring straight ahead at the Lincoln Memorial as it rose up ahead of them. A monument to a dead president, Gleason thought. They’ll need another one in about an hour.

The phone in Mulroney’s pocket began to ring.

Mulroney just stared at his pocket for a second, utterly disbelieving his misfortune. Then he reached for his gun. Gleason was quicker – despite his age, he usually was.

They drove on, Gleason steering gently around the memorial. ‘Answer it,’ he said.

‘It’s not my phone,’ said Mulroney. Realising how stupid that sounded, he tried to elaborate. ‘I picked it up at the cottage, that’s all, Thought it might be useful.’ The phone’s answer machine took the call, the ringing finally stopping. ‘Look,’ said Mulroney, ‘I’ll get it out, you can take a look, it’ll just be someone wanting to speak to, well… whoever the hell it was that owned that house.’

Mulroney held the phone out to Gleason, nearly dropping it as it began to ring again. Gleason placed his gun in his lap and took the phone. ‘I believe you,’ he said. ‘Now maybe we both need to calm down a little.’

Mulroney lowered his own gun and Gleason answered the call.

‘Mr Gleason?’ asked a voice.

Gleason kept his face impassive as he answered. ‘Yeah.’

‘This is a representative of the United States Government.’

‘That so?’

‘Indeed. Might I suggest you dismiss your subordinate? It can’t be a great surprise to learn he has sold you out. That is why I have this number. He gave it to us so we could trace your movements. For now, that trace is not happening. I have bought us a little time so that I can make a proposition to you. I imagine you will doubt that, but all I can say is this: if we just wanted to trace you why would I call and warn you of the fact? Think about that as you deal with Mr Mulroney. I shall call you back in a minute or so.’

The phone went dead before Gleason had a chance to answer. He placed the phone in his lap, moving casually.

‘Well?’ said Mulroney. ‘Who the hell was it?’

Gleason swung his fist into Mulroney’s face, breaking his nose. He snatched Mulroney’s gun and, straightening the car a little before he ran it off the road, pointed it at him.

‘It was for me,’ said Gleason. ‘Interesting, don’t you think?’

‘Jesus, Cotter!’ Mulroney whined, blood dripping onto his lap from between the hands he cupped to his nose. ‘Somebody’s screwing with us, OK?’

‘Really?’ Cotter asked. ‘That the best you’ve got?’

Mulroney sighed. ‘OK, screw it. You were acting like a flake, what do you expect? I found myself an exit. Do what you like, I ain’t begging.’

‘They tracing the phone?’ Gleason asked.

‘Of course.’

Gleason thought about it for a moment. The man on the phone certainly had a point, if they just wanted to track him why alert him to the fact? He was not a naturally trusting man, but in this case logic dictated he hear the man out. But he would also take something else the caller had said under advice: he would continue alone.

‘Damn shame,’ he said to Mulroney.

‘Eighteen years, man,’ Mulroney replied.

‘Yeah.’ Gleason shot Mulroney in the temple and picked up the phone just as it began to ring.

‘We alone now?’ the voice asked.

‘Yes,’ Gleason replied. ‘Now say your piece before I dump this thing.’

‘Well, Mr Gleason, we’d simply like to offer you a job. We both know that this current trajectory of yours is untenable. Shoot up central Washington if you must, but where do you go from there? Do you really imagine a future where we will be wiring money into offshore bank accounts just to make you go away? That’s not what we do to terrorists, Mr Gleason. We simply keep pursuing them until eventually they are dead. You know this. You are one of the blunt tools we have used to achieve this goal in the past.’

‘And your alternative?’

‘You come to work for us. You would be our ultimate enforcer in matters of global security. It is a select position. One that has had very few occupants.’

‘And the current man in the post?’

‘The gentleman that forced your location in Colorado out of David Ellroy. Unfortunately for us, some short time after you had already vacated it.’

‘And how does he feel about being replaced?’

‘I imagine you’ll be able to ask him soon. We have held off the involvement of the security service. They are still loitering around the parks of central Washington waiting for a viable cellphone trace to lead them to you.’

‘Whereas your man?’

‘Is already en route.’

‘Lying son of a bitch.’

‘Not at all, the offer is genuine as long as you are the last man standing. If you agree to take the post, you will be cared for for the rest of your life, given free rein to indulge your tastes and act as our singular global enforcer. We may even let you keep some of the weaponry, though, naturally, our people would like to study it a little first.’