Peter Anghelides - Pack Animals

‘Get away from that door!’

Ianto whirled on his heel. In the frame of the opposite doorway stood a thin-faced, middle-aged woman in a well-cut business suit. Her trim copper hair starkly outlined her head, though the effect was spoiled by the gas mask that covered her face. Angry eyes peered out at him through the top of the mask. The woman wasn’t armed. Both hands were occupied holding a flat black rectangle, like she was carrying a box of chocolates.

Behind her, two Achenbrite guards in grey boiler suits and gas masks were using long-handled sprays to soak the outer corridor. Ianto could swear that the plants were making high-pitched squealing sounds.

‘Get away from the door,’ repeated the woman, her voice metallic through the mask’s speaker. ‘Please.’

He hadn’t touched the door handle. How could she tell he was there? He hadn’t left any footprints on the carpet. But he was still holding the Achenbrite PDA.

He stepped to the left of the door, but at the same time tossed the PDA in a shallow arc to the right. It bounced and scraped across the conference table. Ianto stopped by an open cupboard full of stationery, and held his breath.

The woman’s eyes had followed the PDA as it came to rest against one of the conference phones. When she looked back again, she didn’t stare at the Monitor Room door, but directly to where Ianto had moved.

‘Thank you.’ She set the chocolate box down on the conference table. With her hands free, she could peel the gas mask backwards over her head. She shook her copper hair straight again, and returned her gaze to where Ianto was still trying to hold his breath. She looked straight into his eyes. When she spoke again, her voice was calm, and slightly amused. ‘We had to asphyxiate those creatures in there. The gas has not dispersed, and it’s highly toxic to humans.’ She set down the gas mask, and retrieved the flat box. ‘Come in, boys,’ she called over her shoulder. ‘No need for your masks.’

The two Achenbrite guards stepped into the conference room, their gas masks clipped to their belts. They flanked the woman, each taller than her by a head. Ianto could see a family resemblance in their eyes, and in their coppery red hair.

‘Thank you, boys,’ said the woman. ‘I thought you should meet Mr Jones, who has decided to make an appearance.’

Ianto muffled a gasp. She knew his name. And she knew where he was.

The woman tapped some recessed controls on the chocolate box. A wide angle of pale lilac light shot across the room in a two-second flash. Ianto blinked involuntarily as it dazzled him. When he opened his eyes again, the woman was still staring at him. In fact, she was looking him up and down appraisingly. The two men beside her grinned. It was one of those ‘your flies are undone’ moments, and Ianto’s instinct was to look down and check. And that’s when he first saw his own feet again. Not to mention everything else.

He reached out to the stationery cupboard, grabbed a notepad, and covered up his crotch.

‘Lovely to see you, Mr Jones,’ smiled the woman. She gestured to the conference table. ‘Would you be more comfortable if you were seated?’

Ianto shuffled over and slid into a chair. He kept the pad of paper in his lap beneath the table.

His options appeared to be limited. There was no way past those big red-headed guys. The conference phone was within reach now – was there any way of dialling the Torchwood team fast enough before he was stopped? And what was the number for an outside line, anyway?

‘Hello, my name is Jennifer Portland. Oh, well, I suppose you already know that.’ She sat next to him and offered a handshake. It seemed rude not to accept it. The skin of her hand felt pale and cool, but her grip was firm.

Jennifer pulled one of the conference phones across the desk towards them. ‘Right then,’ she said briskly. ‘Let’s call up your friends in the car park, shall we?’

The wall of monitors sprang into life opposite them. It was displaying an image like a jigsaw with sixteen large rectangular pieces. In the centre was the Torchwood SUV, monitored from a pole-mounted CCTV camera. Wall speakers pulsed with the telephone’s dial tone and the musical notes of the number going through.

‘Hello?’ answered Gwen’s voice.

‘Please stand by for a three-way call,’ said Jennifer.

She tapped further numbers into the phone, and within half a minute she had connected a video call to the Hub. Toshiko’s somewhat surprised face appeared in the upper-right flat-screen. ‘Picture-in-picture,’ whispered Jennifer to Ianto, as though she was doing a demo in an electrical shop.

Jennifer raised her voice to speak to the rest of the Torchwood team. ‘Thank you for joining this conference call,’ she said. ‘We urgently need to talk about MonstaQuest. And as you’ve shown up in person…’ At this, she couldn’t resist a sidelong glance at Ianto’s carefully positioned notepad. ‘… I think it’s now my turn to reveal all.’

Gwen hadn’t expected it to be this easy to get into Achenbrite. A big red-headed guy, barrel-chested, big as a set of drawers, escorted her and Owen from the SUV and into the building. He’d not been surprised when they drew their handguns, and even raised his hands voluntarily like he was under arrest. She and Owen let him lead the way.

Their journey through the Achenbrite building ended in a luxuriously appointed conference room. On the way, Gwen had seen the bloody evidence of several violent struggles, including a gory side room full of mutilated corpses. A surveillance room just beyond where she now stood contained another dead man and a heaped pile of alien corpses.

When she settled into a chair at the head of the wide conference table, Gwen saw there were fresh scratches across its polished surface.

‘Been in a fight?’ she asked Ianto.

Ianto said he’d scratched the table when he threw a PDA onto it.

Gwen indicated his left arm. There were scrapes on Ianto’s skin, and his shoulder was smeared with dried blood. He licked his thumb and wiped ineffectually at the brown-red marks. ‘That’s where the bushes outside scratched me. These people haven’t laid a finger on me.’

Jennifer Portland smiled benevolently at this reassurance. But her emotion seemed brittle. Gwen wasn’t sure she liked her. The woman was in her mid-fifties, calm and composed in her seat beside Ianto. ‘They haven’t put any clothes on you, either,’ responded Gwen tartly.

‘He’s got that A5 pad,’ observed Owen. ‘Or was he just doing dictation?’

Gwen nodded to the two red-headed men on the other side of Jennifer. They’d been introduced as Jennifer’s sons, Chris and Matthew. They studied the Torchwood people sullenly. ‘Didn’t one of you have a spare boiler suit?’

‘We’ve had more pressing problems than clothing,’ Jennifer snapped. ‘You’ll have seen the people who died here today. Seven members of staff, including…’ She paused for a little breath, regaining her composure. ‘Including Toby. One of my sons. He was at the zoo.’

‘Yeah, we saw something of him,’ Owen said.

One of her other sons reached across and squeezed his mother’s hand. Her only acknowledgement was a slight inclination of her head.

This smallest of gestures made Gwen feel more sorry for the woman. ‘What happened here today?’

‘Gareth.’ Jennifer’s voice was barely more than a whisper. ‘I thought he was returning the device he’d stolen.’

‘The catalogue thing?’ prompted Gwen. ‘Is that what brings the creatures through the Rift?’

Jennifer nodded. ‘Three of them. A Hoix and a pair of Chantri Golems. They overwhelmed my team before they could respond. Chris and Matt managed to transfer them into the surveillance suite, and I flooded it with kolokine-7.’