He peered through the front windscreen, and could just make out Jennifer’s red hair as the woman disappeared into the shopping crowds.
Ianto activated his earcomms. ‘Mrs Portland is moving. She’s on her way into Wendleby’s.’
Martina Baldachi hated the general public. She was desperate to get out of Wendleby’s.
The photo op had finished. Martina and her entourage were making their way down the emergency stairs at the rear of the store. The limo would be waiting for them, engine running, in the loading area at the rear of the store. Her bodyguard, Carlo, led the way, which frustrated the store manager who was trying to chaperone his VIP guests. The manager was a fussy man in a cheap suit, and Martina wouldn’t be sorry if she never saw him again. She’d already forgotten his name.
Martina was furious with her personal assistant, Andrea. Where was the TV coverage? Why was there only a handful of Press photographers? Didn’t they know who she was? Hadn’t she brought Galileo with her? The store manager was apologising about some bus that had crashed at the front of the store, because it had drawn most of the Press away. Andrea was concentrating on helping Galileo negotiate the stairs, and said nothing.
Carlo had stopped on the stair landing, confronted by two strangers. Martina’s first instinct, as usual, was that she was about to be kidnapped. Sensing her fear, Galileo shrank back too. He anxiously sought out Andrea’s hand, not his mother’s.
The first stranger was a pale-faced man with bad hair and a cruel mouth. The other one was a dark-haired woman, who obviously had more style. They identified themselves.
‘Bloody Torchwood,’ said the store manager.
The dark-haired Torchwood woman saw Martina on the higher stair and smiled in recognition. ‘Hello, it’s Martina Baldachi, isn’t it? My fiance is a big fan of your husband’s. My name’s Gwen Cooper and this-’
‘One autograph,’ snapped Martina. ‘We must leave for our car.’ What a pity, she thought. This Torchwood woman really should get something done about her fringe.
‘Sorry,’ said Gwen Cooper. ‘You misunderstand. We’re looking for the man you gave those VIP tickets to earlier.’
Martina clicked her fingers in Andrea’s face. ‘Tickets.’
‘Owen Harper,’ said the pale-faced man. He moved up a few steps to talk to her. ‘We don’t want your tickets. We want to find Gareth Portland. Where is he?’
Gareth? She remembered an untidy young man in the toy department. She’d given him VIP tickets to the match. Not for the private box that she’d be in, obviously. The smelly Welsh oaf would be in a separate section with all the other freeloaders, leaving her to make her phone calls in peace and not require her to look interested during the match. Perhaps something could be rescued from this PR disaster, she began to think, so long as the cameras saw her entering the Stadium.
Owen Harper was still talking, ‘Listen, love, I can see you’re in a rush to get to your next colonic or whatever. So let us know where you saw Gareth, and we’ll get out of your fabulously coiffured hair.’
Martina drew back her manicured hand and slapped him across the face.
The thin man’s hand moved like lightning. It seized Martina’s wrist so that her hand remained pressed against his cheek. It was both intimate and threatening.
Carlo twisted around to defend her, reaching for the gun that he should not have been carrying. But the Torchwood woman turned the movement into a shove that pressed the bodyguard against the grey brick of the service corridor. Carlo grunted in pain as the woman pushed his arm further up his back.
Martina blinked in fear. The thin man’s eyes glittered at her, demanding an answer. ‘Gareth? He was in the toy department,’ she blustered.
‘On the fourth floor,’ added the store manager.
‘Thank you,’ said Owen Harper. He let go of Martina’s hand, and pushed on past her up the stairs. Gwen Cooper released Carlo, and followed Harper. As the pair disappeared around the next corner, Martina could hear the man mocking his colleague. ‘Ooh, my fiance is
Martina snatched Galileo’s hand from Andrea’s grasp, and practically fled down the remaining stairs. She pulled up her fur collar and ran to the white stretch limo that waited patiently in the loading bay. The afternoon air was warmer than she’d expected. After all, that thin man had only just come into the building, and his face and fingers had been icy cold.
Toshiko hated driving in town. She gripped the wheel of her 350Z, and focused on the road while Jack grumbled next to her.
Usually, she let the others take charge of whatever vehicle they were using, while she remained in the Hub to coordinate activities, or used the remote systems in the rear of the SUV. She didn’t like the idea of Jack driving her car today
‘Can’t this thing go any faster?’ Jack was an irritable passenger at the best of times. Today, he was itching to get on and get out. ‘Did you choose this car? I bet I could get it into fourth gear.’
‘Your gear-change foot might make that difficult.’
Jack flexed his left leg. ‘Well, I bet I could get it above thirty.’
Toshiko tried to focus on the late-afternoon traffic. ‘You’re not on my insurance,’ she said feebly.
‘You mean you don’t trust me with your car.’ Jack sounded faintly offended.
Toshiko considered some polite lies. ‘I mean I don’t trust you with my car,’ she admitted eventually.
The front of Wendleby’s was still blocked to through traffic. Toshiko flicked on the blue warning lights in her windshield, and the police team lifted the barrier so that she could drive through.
‘Hey, there’s a big picture of a Weevil in that window,’ Jack noted. ‘When did that become NFC?’
Toshiko looked blankly at him.
‘Normal For Cardiff,’ explained Jack. ‘Remember when we had to cover up every Weevil appearance? Looks like MonstaQuest has made them mainstream.’
‘I’d be more worried about that Halloween display in the next window,’ Toshiko told him. She even shivered a little.
Jack checked it out. ‘What… you’re frightened of clowns?’
‘They’re scary clowns,’ she muttered defensively. ‘Like Stephen King’s “It” clown.’
‘Yeah, but…’ Jack was grinning. ‘Clowns?’
Toshiko pretended to ignore him as she steered around the building and into the loading bay. A white stretch limo squeezed past them on its way out. Toshiko parked the 350Z next to the Torchwood SUV.
‘I’m going in,’ said Jack. ‘Looks like Gwen and Owen are already here. You can base yourself in the SUV.’
With that, he struggled from the car and limped into the building.
Jennifer Portland hated people being rude. She called over to the policeman who was at the crash barrier, but he seemed to be ignoring her.
‘Excuse me,’ she called to him, ‘I need to get into the store.’
The constable had taken off his cap and was scratching idly at his blond hair. He was engrossed in his conversation with another officer. ‘It was going to be bad enough on crowd patrol for the match,’ he told her, ‘but this is just madness.’
‘Yeah, right, Andy,’ she laughed. ‘You’re just sore because you haven’t got touchline duty for the international.’ The female officer had spotted Jennifer now. ‘Sorry, madam. You can’t come through here. There’s been an accident. As you can probably see.’
‘The overturned bus would have been your first clue,’ the policeman muttered under his breath.
Jennifer could certainly see. Even without the crash barriers, the street was mostly blocked by the mangled wreckage of a bendy bus. Soil and debris showed where it must have struck some road works and tipped over before smashing into the front window of Wendleby’s. An accident investigation team had set up floodlights in anticipation of dusk. The blue flashing lights of the remaining ambulance speckled the area. A large crane was slowly manoeuvring itself into position on the far side.
Jennifer smiled politely at the officer, and turned away. No point in arguing, and no time for it either. She took a slim cylinder from her handbag, no bigger than a lipstick. Its surface looked like wet tar, but the device felt firm and dry between her fingers. Jennifer didn’t know which alien race had created it. She only knew what it could
