A/N: If a chapter does not contain at least one unconscious Doctor, I consider it a failure :o
Chapter 11 – Taking The Ferry
Two men entered the ferry's restaurant. At first no one took any notice of them – just two more faces in the sea of people going about their business on the ferry to France. The two men sat down at one of the tables, perfectly still, waiting for a command from their superior.
It was only a matter of seconds before it was issued.
"Do it," a voice hissed through one of the men's earpieces.
The men straightened up, and drew out their guns from inside their jackets. One fired off a a warning shot, and instantly the screaming began as passengers scrambled for the exits, only to be blocked by more armed men marching into the seating area.
"Get in the corner!" one of the men yelled, pointing his gun directly at a mother and their child. "Now!"
The crowd of people obeyed, terrified and unable to understand what was going on. They ran to the corner the gunmen indicated as several more gunmen appeared in the restaurant, forcing more people into the corner at gunpoint. A few people tried to make a break for it, but one warning shot from the gunmen stopped them abruptly in their tracks.
"If you do not comply you will be shot!" one of the gunmen yelled, but it didn't stop one of the crowd who ran for the door, arms flailing in terror. One of the gunmen pulled the trigger and the man fell to the floor instantly. He was dead. The crowd gasped in horror, falling silent out of pure shock and fear.
"Nobody move or make a sound!" the gunman who had shot the man commanded, reloading his gun with a definite click, panning it over the crowd. A few silent moments passed.
"Area is controlled, sir," one of the gunmen spoke into a microphone clipped onto his collar.
"Good job, Number 12. Bringing in the prize now."
The crowd of people could only watched as the door flew open and a man entered, dragging another man who was bound at the wrists and ankles, gagged. A woman followed on, looking slightly uneasy. The crowd recognised the captive man – he had been all over the news when his engagement had been announced... but surely it wasn't... John Smith? Rose Tyler's fiancé?
He had blood over his shirt from around his arm wrapped up in makeshift bandages, but was making a pretty good effort to make the man's dragging of him as difficult as possible. The man dragging him was frustrated and angry, planting a few sharp kicks into John Smith's abdomen. It didn't phase the captive though, he continued to struggle in his bonds until finally the man dragging him had had enough, and he grabbed John Smith's head and bashed it hard against the wooden floor. John Smith sagged instantly, plainly unconscious. The crowd watched on in terrified silence.
The man who had knocked him out spoke into a walkie talkie, perfectly calmly. "Number Nine, is the bridge secure?"
"Yes sir," a voice replied, sounding tinny from the communications system. "The Captain is taking us to Calais, France."
"Good. If the Captain shows any signs of resistance tell him we have every single passenger held at gunpoint, and if he fails to comply then we will shoot every last one of them."
"Yessir."
"Keep an eye on the communications systems. I want Torchwood to know what we've done. I want the entire public to know Torchwood is a failure."
"Understood, sir."
Number Three switched off the walkie talkie, lifting his head to look at the cowering crowd. He smiled, though there was no hint of joy in it.
"Come to me, Torchwood..."
The communications system of Torchwood went into meltdown as reports of a ferry being hijacked flooded in. Pete instantly sent out as many soldiers as Torchwood could spare to the dock, warranting several speedboats as helicopters packed with yet more soldiers took off.
"Mobilise all units!" Pete yelled into the mic. "Mobilise all units! Kill every single last one of this gang, I want this over today! John must not be harmed under any circumstances! Your orders are to take him straight to the ambulance helicopter for treatment!"
"What's happening?" Rose asked her father anxiously as he drew back from the microphone, wiping the building sweat from his forehead with a hanky.
"A ferry has been hijacked by armed men from the docks," he said, brow furrowing. "No reports of John but they were ferociously protecting something." He turned to look at his daughter, his expression serious. "We will get him back today, Rose. I promise."
Now that the commotion was on pause, Number Three was sitting at one of the restaurant tables with his feet propped up, sipping at a cup of tea as they waited for reports that Torchwood were on their way. The Doctor still lay unconscious on the floor by his feet, and had been for at least ten minutes through the utter silence in the ferry restaurant. Kayleigh was sat next to Number Three, accepting his embrace, but every now and then she nervously looked down at the Doctor.
The sound of a vintage ringtone broke the silence. Number Three reached into his pocket and drew out his mobile phone. He froze at the number on the screen, setting his tea down on the table and straightening up, alert.
"Sir," was the first word he spoke as he answered the phone. There was a pause before he spoke again, "the situation is under control, sir, I assure you." Pause. "The prize is secure and relatively unharmed." Pause. "He sustained a bullet wound to the shoulder in the exchange and in the commotion of hijacking the ferry one of the crew of the ferry knocked him unconscious. Neither are life threatening." Pause. "Sir, I apologise. These were totally unavoidable and I was indisposed in both situations." Pause. "I understand, sir. I am sorry, sir. Everything will be explained at the rendezvous. Thank you, sir. Good bye."
He hung up, looking slightly shaken.
"Daryl?" Kayleigh asked, getting to her feet beside him. "What did he say?"
Number Three didn't answer. He knelt down next to the unconscious Doctor, resting his fingers on his pulse point before turning him over to face up to the ceiling, shaking him slightly.
"Mr Smith, wake up."
He didn't. Number Three stared at the trail of blood emanating from a bruise on the Doctor's forehead for a moment, before he beckoned over two of his henchmen. "Find me a medical kit and locate 98."
Both men saluted, and disappeared.
"Sir," a voice suddenly buzzed from the walkie talkie. Number Three straightened.
"What?"
"Torchwood have mobilised and are on their way."
"Understood. Commence with the plan in exactly five minutes, beginning now. Time is fourteen minutes past eight, and 54 seconds."
A couple of minutes later the two men he had sent out returned, with another armed man and a medical kit. The man dubbed as 98 seemed to be versed in the field of medicine as he instantly set to work on treating the Doctor, loosening his gag and checking the wound on his head.
The clock ticked by in the ensuing silence before it reached the designated time. Instantly the gang began to move. The lifeboats of the ship were readied and the engines sabotaged. A single shot revealed the untimely death of the ship's Captain as the Doctor, still unconscious, was carried between two men to one of the many lifeboats.
When Torchwood arrived on the ferry ten minutes later, they found no gang, but did find two fatalities and at least five hundred passengers confused, scared and disorientated with no clue as to where the gang had come from, or most importantly, where they had gone.
"I'm sorry sir," one of the Torchwood soldier spoke into his microphone. "No sign of the gang."
Pete cursed, slamming his fist frustratedly onto the table before rubbing furiously at his temples. He was frustrated and angry with himself at the situation. Rose and Jackie had heard everything from across the communications room, holding each other tightly in apprehension. The gang had escaped, again. And John was still lost.
Suddenly the communications system went into an wild array of beeps and Pete sat up, suddenly alert as hope burned inside of him.
"There's reports of a rogue motor boat headed out to the North Atlantic Ocean..." Pete voiced aloud. He reached forward quickly to the comms once more. "Units, reports of activity, North Atlantic Ocean. Check position on your feed, go go go!"
The Doctor woke up, head aching badly and his arm still pulsating from the bullet wound. He winced as he opened his eyes ever so slightly, meeting the face of Number Three. The relief was apparent on his captor's face.
"Welcome back John, I was beginning to worry," Number Three said.
The Doctor didn't feel compelled to answer this. He looked down at himself, untied and ungagged and lying on a pile of soft blankets in, what seemed to be, the back of a lorry.
"Where are we?" he asked.
"We are currently in the back of a lorry about to take us through France to Italy," Number Three replied. "Torchwood are busy chasing a decoy ship across the North Atlantic. They are fools if they think we would allow ourselves to be caught so easily."
"Where are you taking me?"
Number Three smiled that cold smile. "To see Number One."
The Doctor closed his eyes again, biting his lip. For one shining moment he had believed that Torchwood would save him, that he'd be able to see Rose again... and his unborn children. How long had it been since he'd lain beside Rose in the warm comfortable bed of the mansion? It felt like years...
But now he was face-to-face with the possibility that he would never see Rose again. His children would grow up with a father either in captivity or dead.
Number Three was gone when he opened his eyes again, leaving just him and Kayleigh as the lorry began to move, taking him towards his unknown fate.
"Decoy," Peter Tyler muttered, anger evident in his eyes. "It was a decoy!!!"
He slammed his fists onto the table again, making his pen pot jump into the air. After a few moments he took some deep breaths, composing himself before he spoke into the microphone still sitting on his desk.
"We're not giving up," Pete said strongly. "Arrest everyone in the docks at Calais and question them. We will find John, they can't hide him forever!"