Chapter 14
Even allowing for the light dozing on the train back to Cardiff, Ianto hadn't got much sleep. As agreed before his trip to North Wales, he was back at work by 10:30 am, having changed into the suit he kept his locker. Twelve hours later, having spent most of the day sorting out the various messes left by Owen and Gwen, he was shattered. He swore that the next time he was away from the hub for any length of time he was locking up every cupboard in the kitchen. As for the tourist information office – he was going to close it down for the duration if he ever saw it in that state again. Apparently there had been a lot of tourists in Mermaid Quay for the Christmas Fair wanting brochures and leaflets for other attractions in Cardiff, and it would seem that Gwen had let them help themselves.
Trudging wearily up the path towards his front door, Ianto was grateful that his rucksack was considerably lighter than it had been a few days ago, but it was still unwieldy as he tried to prop it against the wall whilst he fished the front door keys out of his pocket. It had been Owen who'd insisted he went back to his own house for the night, despite his offer to sleep in Jack's quarters so that he could take an overnight standby duty. On reflection it was a wise decision on Owen's part, as Ianto wasn't anywhere near as focused as he could have been.
That was why he failed to notice the faint glow from inside the bay window or, indeed, the large, black Landrover parked across the road. If he'd been more alert, he'd have noticed that something was amiss.
"Shit," he cursed as he fumbled to get the key in the lock. The motion sensitive light above the door had failed to come on and he was in the dark.
As soon as he stepped inside the small hallway he knew immediately that something was wrong, very wrong. He could hear a slight shuffling sound coming from the living room to his left and there was an odd aroma, like leather and oil. He quickly slipped his right hand into his jacket pocket and grabbing hold of his phone, slid his thumb nail along a thin groove on one side, catching a barely visible raised area. He just hoped Owen was more on the ball than he'd been.
"Good evening, Mr Jones," he was greeted by a female voice, one apparently devoid of emotion. "Hands above your head, please. Don't even think of reaching for a weapon."
A narrow beam of light was shone directly in Ianto's eyes, momentarily blinding him. He raised his hands, palms outwards and waited for his eyes to adjust. Gradually he could make out three dark silhouettes, all holding what looked like assault rifles. Someone approached him from behind and roughly frisked him, dispossessing him of both his phone and gun.
"Who the hell are you?" demanded Ianto angrily.
"I work for Mr Frobisher."
"You've got the wrong house then because I don't know anyone called Frobisher."
"Really? He knows you, Jones. He complains that you're the person he usually gets to speak to when he's trying to get through to Harkness. The 'Welsh lackey' is what he calls you."
"Harkness? Who's Harkness?" Ianto shook his head from side to side as if he had no idea who the woman was talking about. Meanwhile, seething with indignation, he swore never to be pleasant to the man from the ministry ever again.
"Don't waste my time, Jones. I know who you are. We all know who you are. Former employee of Torchwood in London and one of the few to get out of that shitstorm alive. Currently employed as personal assistant to Jack Harkness – although rumour has it he only took you on to warm his bed."
"Do I look like a hot water bottle?" Ianto shrugged, dropping the idea of feigning ignorance.
"No, you look like someone on the edge of exhaustion." Johnson afforded him a satisfied smirk. "You really should take a seat."
"It's my home and I'd rather stay standing."
Ianto didn't want to lose the advantage of being able to make a run for it if necessary. However, he'd figured out that this woman and her team must be special ops, of some description, working directly for the minister to whom Torchwood reported. That meant they were highly trained, ruthless and unlikely to be outrun.
"Let me rephrase that." The woman snapped her fingers and gestured for one of her team to forcefully shove Ianto down onto the sofa. "Sit down, Jones."
"If you insist, but don't expect me to offer you tea. I imagine you've turned the electricity off at the fuse box anyway. Although you do know that shining bright lights into the eyes of the victim is a touch clichéd?"
"You're rambling, Jones. Nervous?"
A snigger from behind him suggested that the armed operative behind him was amused. Good, thought Ianto, he needed them to believe him to be scared of them. Pity it wasn't all acting.
"My home's been subjected to an armed invasion- I think have every right to be nervous. Anyway, you still haven't told me who the hell you are and who sent you."
"My name's Johnson and Mr Frobisher sent me. He wants to know what the hell Harkness is up to. He said that if anyone knew the answer to that, it would be you."
"It's classified. I couldn't tell you even if I wanted to," replied Ianto, attempting to sound genuinely remorseful.
"The Home Office won't accept that."
"It's never been a problem in the past."
"He's never gone off the radar for this long before."
Ianto pondered the responses from the woman, Johnson. They did confirm their suspicions, that Torchwood was being constantly monitored by government agencies, despite their remit as an autonomous organisation, answerable to no one but the ruling monarch.
Meanwhile, there was a world of a difference between an exasperated phone call demanding to know where Jack was and a visitation by armed special ops in his front room, asking more or less the same question.
"Can I put my hands down now?" Ianto asked, waving in the direction from which the woman's voice had come.
"Oh, I'm terribly sorry, your arms must be aching by now. Cuff him."
Ianto wondered if she spotted him roll his eyes as the man behind him took hold of his hands and snapped a set of hand cuffs around his wrists. At least he could put his arms down and they had, foolishly, allowed his hands to rest in front of him, in his lap. That made him far less vulnerable than being cuffed behind his back. There was a chance of being able to defend himself.
"I'm usually a very patient woman, but as you obviously know something that you're not willing to share, I'm afraid I'm going to have to dispense with the pleasantries and ask my colleagues here to persuade you to tell me what you know."
Without warning, the sofa that Ianto had been sitting on was shoved onto its back, disorientating Ianto who found himself staring up at the ceiling. He took a sharp intake of breath as he felt the ridged sole of a boot press down on his throat. Ianto's ankles were grabbed, jerking his legs apart. He screamed out in agony as he was viciously kicked in the groin. Tears of pain streamed from his eyes beyond his control.
"What was that, Jones? I couldn't make out what you said," Johnson gloated, her voice close to his ear. She'd perched on the arm of the sofa and was stroking his hair in a mockery of comfort.
"Fuck off, you bitch. I am not telling you anything." Ianto swallowed hard, horribly aware of the boot still pressing down on his windpipe.
"That's not very nice." Johnson slapped his face. "But you're wrong. By the time we've finished with you, you will tell me anything to stop the pain."
Ianto braced himself for another cruel kick. It was at that precise moment that he realised that Owen's voice was the sweetest thing he'd heard for a very long time.
"Don't you dare! Not unless you want a bullet in your arse."
Shots rung out in the small living room, resounding loudly as they were fired followed by the sounds of grunts as they impacted flesh and cracks as they hit Ianto's belongings.
In the confusion, the torch that Johnson had been holding, had rolled under a bookcase, so it no longer provided any illumination to the unfolding scenes. All Ianto could do was stay as still as he possibly could and hope to hell that Owen was using the night vision goggles and not just firing at random.
There followed shouting, orders being snapped out and what seemed to be a hasty retreat by Ianto's uninvited guests.
"Tosh – get the lights on will you! Ianto – you alright there, mate?"
"Yep," Ianto managed to call out.
The lights were put on, temporarily dazzling Ianto. But his vision soon adjusted to see Owen leaning over him, looking concerned and Tosh standing by the light switch, night vision goggles around her neck, and a zealous glint in her eye that Ianto recognised as meaning trouble.
"Now, if that was just one of your kinky parties I'm sorry for busting in like that, but I figured you'd save that kind of thing for when Harkness is around."
"No need to apologise, Owen," Ianto croaked, his mouth dry and his throat sore. "What happened?"
Ianto took in the state of his home – he was still lying on his back, hands cuffed, but he could see that the legs on the coffee table were broken and the shattered fragments of glass and ceramics told a story of other items destroyed in the gun battle. Closer inspection detected specks of blood on the carpet and the sofa itself.
"I got the alarm, and called Tosh. I got the gear while she worked out what was going on here. Any idea who they were?"
"Owen!" Tosh admonished her colleague as she knelt down next to Ianto and used a device from her shoulder bag to pop open the hand cuffs. "Maybe we should get Ianto more comfortable first before grilling him?"
"Thank you, Tosh, you're an angel." Ianto gave his friend a hug and a kiss on the cheek in gratitude.
"What about me?" asked Owen gruffly.
"You're an angel as well – want a kiss?" Ianto teased as he gingerly pushed himself up from the floor.
"Save 'em for Harkness - "
Owen had been about to make a snide comment – along the lines of not knowing where Ianto's mouth had been - when he noticed the other man limping and wincing as he lowered himself carefully into the arm chair.
"You OK? Your leg bothering you? We didn't manage to catch you in the cross fire did we?"
Ianto held out a hand, preventing Owen rushing in to examine him.
"No, not OK, but it's nothing you did or my leg – those bastards kicked me in the balls before you arrived. It fucking hurts."
"Sorry, mate. Not much I can do for that, apart from suggest an ice pack and some painkillers. Of course if Jack was here –"
"Yes, he would volunteer to kiss them better," Ianto finished the sentence for Owen, grinning as he watched the medic pull a face. "However, if he was here, I wouldn't have had a visit from Frobisher's goons demanding to know where he is."
"Shit – the government are behind this?" Owen was genuinely shocked.
"Oh yes, apparently they aren't happy about our esteemed leader going awol."
"But he's done it in the past and they've never taken such extreme action as this," Tosh commented, frowning as she helped Owen put the sofa back in place.
"I know. They're spooked for some reason. Who else thinks that Jack's involved in something that we don't know about?"
Both Tosh and Owen raised a hand each.
"So, not just me being paranoid then," Ianto stated with a sigh. He was fed up with secrets. Secrets he was keeping and secrets being kept from him.
"No. But meanwhile, I've changed my mind about you staying the night here. Tosh love, go fetch him an overnight bag, he's coming back to the hub with us."
"Us?" Ianto raised an eyebrow as he picked up on the use of the word 'us'.
Tosh looked away flustered and then darted up the stairs to collect a change of clothes for Ianto.
"Yes – 'us'!" hissed Owen. "We were having a nice quiet evening in, that's until you needed rescuing."
"I see," smirked Ianto. "So, do I get to join in?"
"No, you don't. Bloody Harkness has a lot to answer for," muttered Owen as he shook his head at Ianto. "Once we get there, you're going straight down to Jack's bunker with an ice pack and ibuprofen. And I don't want to hear a peep from you until morning – then you're on the breakfast run."
"Shit – I need to call Jack – he wanted me to call him this evening."
Ianto started to look around the room, turning over discarded cushions frantically.
"It's alright, you can call him later from the hub."
"You don't understand, Owen. My phone, it's not here," Ianto was rubbing his face, which had become even paler. "Oh shit, that bitch has got my phone!"