I can't bothered to write anything up here at the moment.
CHAPTER 6
"The only thing that I'm complaining about is the bleeding uniform!"
"Well deal with it. You can't pick and choose Adam."
"Yeah but seriously? Tweed shorts? In January?"
"You could always wear these very sexy socks which you could pull up past your knees!"
"I'll look like someone from 1920."
"The whole of your school is going to look like it's from 1920. It's a private school and, for that reason, it's the only one who would accept you at such short notice."
"With a hefty pay out."
"With a hefty pay out," agreed Gwen. "Now get on your uniform."
"Can't you say that you didn't have time to go and get it? Please."
"No. That's what you've been saying for the past three days when really it's been sat in your wardrobe. Move!"
His first lesson of the day was French. He hadn't had the joys of experiencing French at this school yet, although he'd been thoroughly tested in his German and Spanish classes to see what he knew. He could speak German fluently and Spanish almost so and for that reason the French teacher had taken him aside as he entered the classroom and asked him if he could speak French at all. His reply had obviously pleased her as she smiled brightly and exclaimed: 'Brilliant! You'll be sat next to Isabella. She's bordering on the edge of an A so with your help maybe she'll get there." He'd groaned inwardly but smiled back at Madame Surnray, who seemed nice enough.
Isabella was a short but slim girl with cropped brown hair and sparkling brown eyes. As Madame Surnray pointed him to his seat, she looked up and gave him a bright grin, moving her bag and coat without argument from the empty chair beside her.
"Hiya. I'm Isabella Raint. Good to meet you."
He bestowed a perfunctory smile on her. "And you. I'm Adam." He turned back towards the board. Isabella would have been very easy to make conversation with but he was all too aware of the fact that he'd be leaving again very soon.
Madame Surnray began to talk so Isabella turned towards the front too. "We'll begin with some simple stuff to get your mind back into gear after the Christmas holidays. Now," she looked at her register, "Adam. Everyone, this is Adam Peters. He's moved here from an elite school in London so I expect you all to welcome him into this class environment appropriately." Adam felt, rather than saw, the eyes of his classmates swivel round to him. He kept his eyes fixed firmly on the board but in his peripheral vision he saw Isabella giving him a sympathetic look. He moved his head slightly in her direction and smiled weakly at her. "Right, Adam. Describe your maison."
He started and looked at her. She simply raised her eyebrows slightly and mouthed 'go on.' Alex changed his previously made up mind – this teacher was evil.
"Urm … J'habite une maisou de taille moyenne. C'est tres douilletee. Il y a trois chambres, un salon, une cuisine, deux salles de bains, un bureau et un garage en desordre. Oh, aussi, il ya un petit jardin. En haut, il y a ma chambre, la grande chambre et la petite chambre. "
He stopped as he realised he'd unwittingly described his home in London with Jack. Luckily, Madame Surnray took it as his ending and moved on to her next victim, Isabella. The class was looking at him, clearly astonished. He distinctively heard a boy mutter to his friend "So that's English, French, Spanish and German that he can talk. You owe me a fiver."
Alex had just turned to look at the boy who had been taking bets on him when his friend replied "What other bloody languages can he talk?"
"Well, I can speak welsh and I'm learning to speak Russian."
Both guilty parties looked towards him, startled. Alex recognised them as the pair in his German class who sat at the back making paper airplanes all lesson.
"Sorry mate," declared the first, although looking unmistakably not sorry.
Alex twisted in his seat to look at his book as Madame Surnray declared that she'd be going around the class and getting everyone to describe their house during the lesson. Amidst the inevitable groans that followed, Isabella tapped his arm and leaned in to whisper to him.
"I was new last term. They got a bit jealous of me because I speak French better than them so they decided to get their girlfriends to warn me off of being too smart. They are brainy. They just don't like to show it."
"Tell me about it," he murmured back.
"You know, Madame Surnray did exactly the same thing as she did to you to me too. Only, I had to describe my weekend," recounted Isabella. She gave an infectious laugh. "I moved house, my mum temporarily split up with my dad and my brother nicked the ensuite bedroom that I'd already claimed."
"That accent. You're not welsh at all are you?"
"Nope." Isabella agreed cheerfully. "I'm a Londoner too. Only my dad got a transfer to here and he decided he'd take us all with him."
"Isabella?" He whispered her name to regain her attention from the class traipsing past the open door.
"It's Izzy and yeah?"
"Where abouts in London?"
"On the outskirts. And you?"
"Chelsea."
"Cool. I didn't think I'd know you but I thought I'd check! So where do you live now?"
"4 Turnmill Road. The apartments."
"No way! My uncle and his fiancée used to live there. But they moved because it was too small for them now and they wanted a garden for Yasmin and Evie to play in."
"Are Evie and Yasmin their kids?"
"Yeah. They're so sweet. I hardly ever see them though. Mum and Owen had a massive argument when he dropped out of medical school and moved when Katie died. She reckoned he was just running away from everything but he told her that he'd got a brilliant job offer as a doctor. But she didn't believe it and they haven't spoken since." She drew in a deep breath, gasping from her passage without oxygen. "I text him sometimes though."
"Owen. What was your aunt's name?"
"Not my aunt. Not yet. He proposed about five years ago but they've never gotten around to actually marrying. And it's Toshiko by the way. Toshiko Sato. Why?"
"And what about Owen. His last name?"
"Harper."
"What about his work? Where do they work?"
"I dunno. They never mention anything. Just 'special ops'. In the police or something." Izzy looked bemused. "Do you know them?"
"Something like that," Alex replied darkly.
"Gwen! Gwen!" A mini hurricane whirled around the rooms in the apartment, searching for a raven haired woman. Alex stopped just outside the largest bedroom as Gwen stepped out of it, toweling her sopping wet hair dry. Her eyes flashed dangerously.
"What the hell are you doing here? It's just gone midday. Unless your school finishes early on a Thursday then you had better have a brilliant explanation. We don't draw undue attention to ourselves unless we want people looking at us too carefully. You may only be fourteen but surely they've taught you that much already!?"
"They have," Alex replied coldly, smarting from the insult on his intelligence. "They also taught me how to jump fences and seeing as the one at school isn't very high, it didn't pose much of a problem when I needed to talk to you now because I got talking to Owen Harper's niece today." The anger disappeared from Gwen's eyes instantly, replaced instead by suspicion. "Where are the boxes?"
Gwen didn't say anything but Alex interpreted the colour draining from her face correctly. "They've taken them! God, Gwen. How could you be so lax? You must have realised they were the same people from the photo; or that they were the same people that you knew when you were part of this 'Torchwood'. Or did you really? Are you just playing me for a fool and the only reason you're here is to cover up something? I don't even have to be here. I've got nothing to do with Russia. I've got no reason to help you and your country!"
"All you need to do is walk out of here and you'll know that I'm not bluffing because I'll carry on searching for them. Go on. Leave. Walk away now and forget all about me," she taunted dangerously.
Alex looked at her through narrowed eyes. He didn't want to leave but right now he couldn't be sure of anything – her true identity, her involvement with this Torchwood and his willpower not to do something rash like break her nose or something similar. He'd fool her. He could make her think he'd gone back to London, which would flush her out if she was a double-agent.
"Fine," he breathed heavily. Spinning on his heel, he walked into his bedroom and withdrew a dark blue holdall from under the bed. Not stopping to grab anything but some clothes, his phone and washing stuff, he bundled his belongings into the bag. When he reentered the hallway Gwen hadn't moved although her face seemed a few shades paler. He stalked out of the door and it swung shut behind him.
"Souka," Gwen swore quietly.
If he didn't come back in under twenty-four hours, she'd be obliged to report him missing which would lead to her being pulled out of the operation in case he blew her cover. Or she could just allow him to wander around Cardiff aimlessly until she'd got what she needed. Or she could go after him now and force him to come back.
Every inch of her pride rebelled against her decision but she coerced her feet into moving towards the door.
"Shit, souka, svolach, bastard, sod it." Gwen's profanities as she climbed arduously up the flight of stairs (the lift had broken down in her absence) – alone – echoed around the brightly painted landing and staircase. As she emerged onto her landing, she immediately spotted a potential problem: the lock had, expertly, been tampered with. The fact that it was only just visible to her trained eyes suggested that someone with a dangerous amount of training or knowledge had been inside her flat. Pulling her gun cautiously from her inside pocket, she kicked open the door and proceeded inside.
Nothing appeared to have changed but she continued to check everything for interference. She uncovered two bugs – one on top of a kitchen cabinet and one inside her bedroom. They were miniscule creations and took her about half an hour to find. She hadn't known what she was looking for but now that she'd found them it was becoming horrifically evident. The only other modification in the apartment was a piece of lined paper that had materialized on the table, torn from a school book. It was covered in sprawling writing.
Owen Harper and Toshiko Sato. Ages unknown.
Two daughters – Evie and Yasmin. Ages unknown.
OH proposed to TS 5 years ago. Not married yet.
Moved because flat was too small for them. (But it has plenty of space so poss other reason?)
Isabella Raint – Owen Harpers niece. Her mum is his sister.
Say they work for 'Special Ops' in police. IR unclear. Says they were secretive about it.
Gwen smiled despite her predicament. It had been Alex. Then her face froze: if it was Alex who had broken into the flat, the bugs must have already been placed before they left. She thought back to when the boxes had been collected.
The shower was deliciously warm and she allowed the water to flood around her tense muscles. She had just reached for the shampoo when the faint click of the door alerted her somebody's presence.
"Alex?" she called out.
"No," a female voice replied. Her warm tones sparked a flicker of recognition within Gwen. "I'm just here to collect the boxes. I was the apartment's last owner."
Gwen jumped in alarm. "Right. I'm really sorry but could you wait for two minutes please. I just want to talk something through with you."
"I'm really sorry. I have to pick up my daughter from preschool. I should be there in ten minutes." The way she said 'ten minutes' sent another, stronger, flash of recollection through Gwen. She could picture the Japanese woman from the photo telling them how long they had to do something or how long the next turning was from them. She used to stay at The Hub and direct them from ground zero. Gwen shook herself mentally.
"Toshiko? Is this Toshiko? Please wait. I just …" The door slammed shut.
It was plenty of time to plant the bugs, especially if the woman, if she was indeed Toshiko, had an accomplice.
Gwen grabbed a pen from the coffee and scrawled four words onto the bottom of Alex's note.
The Hub.
Toshiko = techie.
She scrutintised the paper again.
The Hub was where 'Torchwood' was based. Owen and Toshiko had two daughters now, possibly could be used as leverage over them. Jack played an important role in it. They presumably, if Toshiko and Owen hadn't changed jobs, went by Special Ops. Ianto too, don't forget the tea boy (where had that come from?). They had advanced technology at their fingertips if the bugs were anything to go by.
Sitting down on the sofa, she picked up the laptop which was lying on the cushion next to her.
Quickly logging in and connecting to the internet, she searched 'Torchwood' in Google. The page showed only four search results. Scanning through them all briefly, she was soon satisfied that a Deforestation Team in Canada was not what she was looking for. She changed her tack and alternatively searched 'Cardiff Special Ops'.
This search result went on over multiple pages, although even then it was still not teeming with results. The first few pages contained nothing of interest but when she had clicked onto the fifth page, one particular result caught her eye. It was a website with a live chat entitled 'What Has Torchwood Done to you?'
Not exactly the catchiest of titles.
Nevertheless she logging in as 'RussianRaven' and decided to cut straight to the chase; her cover was already blown:
RUSSIANRAVEN: Hey all. I have links back to this Torchwood after an incident in my country. Can anybody tell me who they are?
ADMINISTRATOR: Torchwood is an organisation that seems to go out of its way to chase trouble. Whenever something out of the ordinary happens, they swarm around like bees and take over the place.
COPPERWITHREVENGE: I'd bloody well say so. I was a high ranked police officer until one day I was on the scene at a murder and a dirt great black SUV turns up. The tall one told me to clear the scene and when I told him that it was a crime scene he laughed at me. So, next day, I was asking around at the station about them and thought I was onto something. So I follow that SUV again to the Millennium Centre but then it disappears. And when I got back to the station, my boss calls me into his office and bang, I was fired for unprofessional conduct. They had an anonymous video sent in of me beating up a witness but I swear on God I didn't do that. There should have been an inquiry or something but no. I was just thrown out of the door. Not allowed back into the police now am I?
ADMINISTRATOR: Torchwood ruins people's lives. Ordinary people's lives. They think that they have authority over the police and the government.
COPPERWITHREVENGE: I had to sell my flat cos they left me without any income. I know it was them that did it to me.
RUSSIANRAVEN: Who are they? The people in this organisation?
ADMINISTRATOR: There are only a select few. There's the tall man in a big military coat - the boss.
COPPERWITHREVENGE: That's who spoke to me.
ADMINISTRATOR: Then there's a black woman. Harkness' right hand man (or woman).
And a Londoner, wiry with brown hair. Looks like a weevil.
And another woman, Japanese, petite and slim. Allows carries around a laptop.
And then there's a welsh bloke. About your age, I'd say. Brown hair. Brown eyes. Used to be quite fat but he's lost weight since he joined.
RUSSIANRAVEN: A/What's a weevil? B/How do you know all of this? C/What makes you think that you know my age?
ADMINISTRATOR: Oh. Don't you remember what a weevil is? I'm disappointed Gwen.
RUSSIANRAVEN: Who the hell are you?
ADMINISTRATOR: And you don't remember me either!? My name is Bilis Manger. Remember now?
RUSSIANRAVEN: No.
ADMINISTRATOR: Oh, too bad. Be sure to say hi to Rhys when you see him though ... from me.
ADMINISTRATOR HAS LOGGED OUT
R&R please! =)
