Torchwood Nigeria; Sokoto State, Nigeria
Idrissa Oliveira woke late as Azrael returned to their room. He had been restless since returning from the island south of Vietnam. From the global news reports and information from other Torchwood offices, Idrissa knew his husband somehow destroyed the alien ship fused with Amsterdam Island and closed the portal it was opening in space. But he didn't know how.
"Talk to me." Idrissa wondered what happened. Not necessary the ship destruction. In the last two weeks, he noticed changes; little things at first. His husband suddenly had more control. That might have explained the new abilities.
"I fixed Lake Kivu."
It took Idrissa a moment to remember it. The lake was in the Congo and known for being saturated with CO2. While limnic eruptions were rare, they happened. When the CO2 erupted from the water, it killed everything in the area with a toxic cloud of gas.
"How?"
Azrael shimmered, barely visible as he moved around the small room. "I removed the carbon dioxide."
Idrissa pushed himself up, knowing he wouldn't get answers. The conversation reminded him of several recently. One of the many complications of being married to someone who wasn't physically human anymore. "Can you fix the lakes in Cameroon?"
"Yes," Azrael said absently.
"Aman." Idrissa couldn't bring himself to use the ridiculous nickname. "Has something change? Between us."
"No." His husband fully materialized and climbed into bed with Idrissa. "What is wrong?"
Should I make a list? "You are behaving strange."
"I have things to work out." Azrael leaned in and kissed Idrissa.
"A mid life crisis?"
Azrael laughed. "Ariadne taught me how to use my abilities."
"The ancient?" That sounded worse than chasing twenty year olds.
The intercom specific to the room chimed. "Computer, activate com," Azrael said. It clicked.
"Good morning," Vijay said. "Director Matheson sent a message in a containment box."
That did not sound good, Idrissa thought, sitting up.
"I will be there in a few minutes," Azrael said.
Torchwood Nova Scotia; Truro, Nova Scotia, Canada
After more than a week, Liam Doughtery had increasing doubts about leaving Dublin and Trefor. He stood in the same room he had the last time remembering what Jeannette said about acceptance over Skype. It sounded simpler than it was. He wanted a relationship he couldn't have. At least he understood that much.
Coming to Nova Scotia made Liam wonder why he didn't realize the obvious. Listening to Eryn talk about wedding plans hurt unimaginably. Seeing Aman and Kailen kissing in the break room sent him fleeing back to his room to cry. Liam wanted to go home. Except he couldn't. Returning meant accepting the changes to their relationship. When he realized he was mad at Nessa for getting pregnant instead of sympathetic, he knew it was over.
Liam wiped the tears from his eyes. My own fault, he told himself.
The intercom clicked on. "Liam," Eryn said, "Are you up for data mining?"
It might distract him, Liam thought. "What?"
"Rex had Azrael go to London and download copies of the archived juvenile criminal records."
Confused, Liam asked, "Why?"
"Someone attempted to blackmail a Torchwood London employee with records. Kailen is tracing an email containing details of a domestic situation that resulted in fatal self-defense. She had trouble telling Director Matheson and he already knew about it."
Liam grimaced. "Is someone checking for social sins? Partying, drugs, infidelity…"
"We haven't gotten there yet."
"The more conservative and religious the parents, the more likely they have hidden mistakes." Liam knew more from friends than his own experiences. "Women need to be checked for extended school absences, unusual hospitalizations, and sealed court records."
"Why?" Eryn asked.
"Concealed pregnancies, abortion complications, and private adoptions."
She paused a moment. "I will take the juvenile records. You can do the social backgrounds."
Other circumstances, Liam wouldn't have hesitated. "Are people going to get fired for lying about criminal records because they stole a car when they were fifteen?" Or any number of offenses that people committed when they were kids that shouldn't haunt them.
"No. One of his assistants has parents that were Torchwood black ops and the other killed her stepfather," Eryn said. "Director Matheson knew that when he hired them."
Aman Oliveira stood behind Kailen rubbing his shoulders. At some point, Aman knew he needed to join Eryn and Liam for the insane task of looking for potential blackmail material. He read Liam's starting social criteria. With Captain Harkness' reputation, Aman hoped Torchwood employees weren't afraid that any consensual relationship would cost them their job. It reminded him of dealing with his father.
"What's wrong?" Kailen asked as he typed.
"Just remembering how people thought I was dating Eryn. Drugs, guns, murder and religious extremism." Aman kissed the top of Kailen's head. "We were in the closet to avoid morally offending warlords."
"I was talking to someone online two days ago. Apparently, there are religious groups that have decided all Torchwood employees are like Jack. That Torchwood somehow corrupts a person." Kailen chuckled.
"Luc will love that."
"A group of trolls got on one site discussing Torchwood's indecency and compared it to Stranger in a Strange Land. It went downhill quickly." Kailen stopped typing and motioned at his screen.
Aman looked over his husband's shoulder. "Did you find something?"
"The email CeCe received was sent from a cafe with WiFi." Kailen's tone said he doubted the information. "It's the closest one to the US embassy."
"Arrogance or an attempt to blame the US."
Kailen started typing again. "I need to connect to CCTV footage through Cardiff."
The same way we tracked Beaupre, Aman thought.
Several minutes later, Kailen sat back. "The stereotypical computer nerd." He shook his head.
"How hard was it to trace?"
Kailen shrugged. "Between Torchwood software and Four's Internet mapping, pretty simple."
"Could someone anticipate you could trace it?"
"Possibly. You think he was set up?"
Aman wondered is he was being paranoid. "Recheck everything. Make sure he wasn't hacked."
"Okay." Kailen started typing. "What are you thinking?"
"Either the US set it up so they could claim they wouldn't be stupid to use a location near the embassy. Or someone chose that location to implicated the US."
"The person sent sealed juvenile records."
"Azrael broke in and stole them today. It would have taken someone else more effort, but it's possible."
Torchwood Four; Dublin, Ireland
General Trefor Williams didn't look forward to interviewing. Thanks to Rogan, the government found out Liam transferred. Ideally, the report didn't include why. As a result, the government demanded an Irish replacement. Rather than send office support resumes, the candidates were military men. When Trefor pointed it out they had two investigators, he was told Jeannette was a kid and could handle the office duties.
The general waited at the external garden door with a mental list of questions he couldn't ask. While it could be coincidental, all five applicants were male and over thirty-five. Each served at least ten years in the military. Single. No close family. They looked like black op candidates. Which made sense if the person recommending field agents understood Torchwood.
"Jamie Connolly is here," Four announced. "No guns."
"Anyone with him?"
"No." Pause. "He's wearing a recording device." Four found it ridiculous.
"Can you access the frequency and send different audio?"
"Yes. Why?"
The general smiled. "Check YouTube for a recording of Tub Thumper by Chumbawamba." He smiled. Liam used the song for rigged maintenance bots. They played the song before they exploded. "After Connolly reaches the door, play it loud. Repeatedly."
Four opened the door automatically as Connolly neared it. The general concluded seeing him up close the black ops description fit even more. Connolly looked like the boy next door. He even moved like a civilian. Unless one focused on the way he held himself.
"Welcome to Torchwood. I'm Trefor Williams."
Connolly stepped in and eyed the room. "Looking for a reaction?" He asked after the door closed behind him.
"Watering the plants is part of the office manager job you applied for."
The Irishman turned and met the general's eyes. "I was told you needed an investigator."
"No. We have two." He gave it a moment. "For the most part, Ireland is quiet."
"The teenager?" Connolly turned and walked toward a potted trees.
"When you were in the military, and you needed something done, would you send the most qualified? Or chose someone based on how Irish or male they were?"
"I have formal training."
"Jeannette could hand you your arse." Not entirely true, the general thought. She could roast it. "She also has knowledge and experience you don't have." And can't learn.
"You need someone with military experience."
The general barely kept from laughing. Before leaving 2049 to go back in time, he led Earth's defense force. He started commanding ground troops years before that. "I need an office manager."
"What duties?"
"Watering the plants, inventory, basic paperwork. The last business manager coordinated with the local club scene and social media." The general reminded himself to focus on the interview. Then he'd ask Jeannette to check on Liam.
Connolly turned, obviously confused. "Why?"
"Tracking drugs." They had problems with CN, the aquatic alien treatment and the angel-alien. "For various reasons."
"What do you do?"
"Everything from paperwork to threat assessment and support of other offices."
"Why does that need a specialist from Wales?"
That's what you want, the general thought. "I have enough sense not to walk into a Torchwood office with a listening device." He gave it a moment. "You should play it back."
Connolly barely reacted. "Why did you let me walk in here?"
"The government insisted I hire an Irish military vet for an office manager. Your sealed disciplinary record..." The general trailed off, watching for a reaction. "Suggests you could think for yourself." Being able to read between the lines meant he had experience reviewing Irish military records.
