Another Life

nose. He was unsure whether he was offended by this young doctor’s manner or being interrupted with Megan or being found close to her.

Megan swivelled around to face this other doctor. ‘Jonny,’ she smiled smoothly. ‘I was really curious about this bullet. How did you manage to extract it? The notes say you were all set for arthroscopic intervention.’

‘Oh, Megan, hi…’ Jonny considered this for a moment. ‘Beats me. I was sure it was lodged in the subacromial space. Bugger of a job to extract, but it looked right up Freeman’s street.’

‘That’s out in Newport, right?’ observed Owen.

Megan elbowed him. ‘Not helping,’ she hissed. ‘Mr Freeman’s very keen on promoting the Trust’s minimal invasive procedures.’

‘I must have been mistaken,’ admitted Jonny glumly. He thumbed both his eyes in a reflex gesture, tiredness seeming to overwhelm his anger. ‘Unless the bullet worked its way out on its own. Or the pressure dressing I applied is like a really powerful magnesium sulphate. Ha, ha!’ His mirthless laughter at his own medical joke was cut short by the start of a huge, unstifled yawn.

Owen saw his opportunity. ‘They’re bringing more in from that capsized water taxi. Mr Majunath said we should remind you that he’s asking everyone to extend their shifts-’

Jonny let out a groan to rival the noisy thunderstorm outside.

‘-and we’ve already extended. So if you crack on with the new arrivals, we can finish off with this patient.’ He studied Jonny’s wary reaction, and added slyly: ‘No need to make a big fuss about the thing with the bullet.’

The junior doctor’s tired eyes lit up briefly at this exit strategy. ‘OK. And you’ll want these. Radiology finally sent her second set down.’ He passed over a broad brown folder, and slipped out before Owen could change his mind.

Owen activated the light-box on the wall, and the fluorescent tubes stuttered into life. He slotted the films into place, and pointed out a detail to Megan.

‘Another bullet,’ Megan breathed. ‘But there’s no visible damage to the mid-thoracic vertebral bodies. No bone fragments. Little or no tissue damage.’

‘Think it through,’ Owen said. ‘A gunshot wound to the spine would cause further nerve and tissue injury, even further from the bullet’s path.’

‘Nothing in the notes here.’

‘She jumped in front of the ambulance, remember that? She was mobile. So unless one of the paramedics shot her in the ambulance, that thing was already there.’ Owen took the folder from her and closed it. ‘It’s not a bullet. And I’ve seen it before, in an autopsy.’

Megan was astonished. ‘What is all this, mate? You knew about this patient before you came here. What makes her so special?’

‘Apart from that thing in her spine, you mean?’ Owen checked Applegate’s monitors again, satisfied himself that she was stable, before he sat down on one of the visitors’ chairs. ‘We’ve been looking for her all day.’

‘We? Oh, Torchwood, right.’ She sat down next to him. ‘Why is she so important?’

Owen looked into Megan’s hazel eyes. She wasn’t questioning his motives any more. She wasn’t quizzing him about Torchwood. Megan wanted to know about this mysterious woman; she looked to him for the answers. She wanted in, he could sense it now, and he had control. So it grated that he didn’t know.

Why did Torchwood need to locate Applegate so urgently?

When Jack had phoned in to the Hub earlier, Owen had felt trapped and powerless. He wanted to be out there with them, with Jack and Toshiko. Not leaving it to them and the new girl. He hadn’t felt those emotions, not like that, since way back when he first joined Torchwood. Those first few days, when he’d been overwhelmed by the newness and the strangeness and the alien-ness of everything he’d been asked to do. When he’d driven home and thrown up in the sink, every night for eight days. So to feel that familiar sick impotence in his stomach when Jack had phoned in to demand that he stay put, to do the research, to leave the rest of them to it… That had fermented into a kind of bitterness, an anger. He’d grudgingly accepted his research role earlier. Finished it with his usual efficiency, if not his usual diligence, and then left.

At least he could tell Megan what he’d found.

‘Why is she so important?’

Owen watched Applegate’s chest rise and fall rhythmically under the hospital gown. Her short blonde hair stuck out awkwardly on the white pillow. ‘She is a brave and resourceful soldier. And we think she’s mixed up in something she can’t control. Something that’s got out of hand.’ He turned away from the prone body of Applegate on the bed, and leaned in conspiratorially towards Megan’s chair. ‘Thirty-four years old, unmarried, only child, parents both deceased. Her army record is remarkable. Currently a respected trainer at Caregan, but she’s got a string of awards and recognition, starting at only 21. Got a commendation for bravery and swift action after a shooting incident near her posting while she was off-duty. Most recently she has a QCVS and a QCB from separate tours of duty in Afghanistan. In Khost, she was injured in a sniper attack, but remained in position to neutralise the gunman’s fire while the rest of the patrol drew back, and only then did she get her injuries seen to.’

‘You sound impressed.’

‘Wouldn’t you be? For fun, she works with a charity for blind ex-Service personnel on hundred-metre dives at Dahab in the Red Sea.’

‘I bet she’s kind to animals, too,’ said Megan. ‘And you got all this by researching her Army records?’

‘She has no significant financial commitments, sometimes rents a small place in Porthcawl because it’s handy for scuba diving. Her credit record is OK. No overdraft. She pays off her Visa on time, in full, every month-’

‘Hang on, Owen! You don’t get that sort of information from a quick search on the Internet!’

‘That’s every month, without notable exceptions,’ continued Owen relentlessly. ‘And the Visa bill’s rarely more than three hundred quid, except when she bought herself some specialist diving equipment. So it’s got to have been something really unusual, something outside the control of this brave and resourceful and organised woman, to cause her to go AWOL twenty-three days ago, wouldn’t you think?’

Megan had her head in her hands now. ‘How can you know all this?’ She considered Owen, perhaps seeing him differently yet again this evening. ‘I don’t even have to ask really, do I? And all that stuff about the sniper incident and her injuries… maybe that’s why she’s coped so well with her wounds tonight. But hang on, you’re not shooting at her, Torchwood doesn’t want to kill her. So who does?’

Owen pondered the question. In the ensuing silence, he could hear that Applegate’s breathing had changed. She was snuffling, short staccato snorts that soon turned into coughing.

Megan moved swiftly to the bedside and calmed Applegate, who was struggling with the oxygen mask.

‘Have you been awake for long?’ Owen asked her from the foot of the bed.

Applegate peered at him, waiting for the cough to subside. ‘For a few minutes. Just long enough to hear your very kind biography of me. Not to mention your routine as my new independent financial advisor.’ She raised a wavering hand to dismiss Owen’s attempt to explain. ‘I don’t need you to say where you got that information. Unlike your colleague here…?’

‘Dr Tegg. I’m supervising your treatment. Please call me Megan.’

‘Owen Harper. Dr Owen Harper, actually.’

Applegate had composed herself a little more now. ‘Unlike Megan here, I do know about Torchwood. Because it was Torchwood who tried to kill me.’ Her brown eyes glittered at him. ‘So one way or another, Dr Harper, you’ve located me just in time.’

TWENTY-THREE

Now that Sandra Applegate was fully conscious, Owen and Megan raised the back of her hospital bed so that she could sit up more comfortably. Owen checked the monitors again, satisfying himself that their patient was stable. She was still very pale, though not the deathly grey colour he’d seen earlier. Her gestures were getting stronger, and her voice no longer wavered when she spoke.

‘Your colleagues made a mistake, Dr Harper. They didn’t know I needed Torchwood’s help.’

‘Guess how often we hear that, Sandra.’ Owen scraped his chair nearer to the bed. ‘So, what’s your