Trace Memory

had said very little to Ianto except: 'Watch Bev. She's got a mean streak a mile wide.'

He had some idea of what Bev was talking about. It had something

to do with any incidents in which those who passed through Information Retrieval were also dealt with by UNIT, and the way in which the two organisations would split the costs of rendition and transferral, but other than that it was all still a mystery to him.

As he searched through the different drives on his PC for the quarter three budget, Bev stepped back out of her office.

'Oh yes, Ianto. We're expecting a visitor at some point this afternoon, from Cardiff. His name's Mr Cromwell. If he turns up any earlier, make sure you offer him tea or coffee, and if I'm away from my office call me on my mobile immediately, OK? He's to be treated like a VIP.' She paused, as if in thought. 'Actually, offer him tea or coffee and biscuits. And not the cheapy brand chocolate digestives, either. Give him the Hobnobs.'

Ianto suppressed a smile and nodded. When Bev's office door was closed once more, he chuckled to himself before carrying on with his work.

The staff restaurant was on the forty-eighth floor of One Canada Square, and it was possible to see the whole of the city from its windows. It was so high up, in fact, that it was possible to see beyond London, to the green belt that existed beyond the city limits. It made London, the sprawling metropolis, seem curiously small.

When Lisa met Ianto there, she was carrying a box of chocolates.

'Look what I've got!' she said, beaming.

'Of course,' said Ianto. 'I'd forgotten. Valentine's Day. Got an admirer, have we?'

Lisa laughed. 'No, silly. Colin gave them to me. Because I haven't had a day off sick in twelve months.'

Ianto nodded toward the box. 'So that's what we get, is it?' he said. 'For a year of good health? A box of chocolates?'

'Yeah. Well… It's better than a kick in the teeth, isn't it?'

'I suppose.'

Lisa looked down at the box. 'Authentic Belgian Chocolates,' she said, reading the packaging. 'Made in Ireland.'

They both laughed.

'So how's your morning been?' Lisa asked. 'Full of fun and laughter?'

'Yeah,' said Ianto, sarcastically. 'A laugh riot from start to finish. So are you going to open those chocolates or did you just bring them up here to show off?'

'Bit of both, really,' said Lisa. 'Hey, listen, I was talking to Tracey, and she reckons you're not the only Welsh man in Inf Ret.'

'What do you mean?'

'That man who turned up? The one who slipped past security? She said he's from Wales too.'

Ianto frowned. 'How come I work in Inf Ret and I don't know this, but Tracey works in Data Process and she does?'

'Tracey gets all the gossip.'

'So he's from Wales?'

'That's what she said.'

'Invaders From Wales?'

'Something like that. So, you want a chocolate or what?'

Ianto couldn't quite work out what the point in him signing the card was. It was a card congratulating Linda Wells on giving birth to a bouncing baby boy, Josh, 7lbs 3oz. The thing was, Linda Wells had left Torchwood over three weeks ago. He had never met her.

Even so, he felt a certain degree of pressure from the others in the office that he should sign it, especially when Martin, who sat three desks away, said, 'Simon would have signed it, but he's not here, is he?'

That then left Ianto with the quandary of what to write.

He tried to think of something witty, but then realised that he didn't know Linda, and so didn't know her sense of humour. He settled on, 'Congratulations, Linda — Ianto'.

No kisses. That would have been grossly inappropriate considering they'd never met.

He was handing the card back to Martin when the old man entered the office. A very old man in a long, cashmere coat and trilby hat; the kind of hat Ianto thought people had stopped wearing years ago. He walked with the assistance of a black walking stick, and it took him an age to get from the door to Ianto's desk.

'I'm here to see Bev Stanley' said the old man. 'I'm Mr Cromwell, from Torchwood Three.'

Ianto frowned.

'Cardiff,' the old man said abruptly.

'Oh, of course,' said Ianto. 'Um… If you'd just like to take a seat… Can I get you anything? Tea? Biscuits? We've got Hobnobs.' He closed his eyes and wondered whether he was blushing. Had he really just asked the old man if he'd like a Hobnob?

'I'm fine, thank you,' said Cromwell. It was practically a growl.

'Oh… well… If you'd just like to take a seat… I'll call Bev now.'

He lifted his phone and called through to Bev's office, telling her that Mr Cromwell had arrived. Bev was at the door within seconds, suggesting to Ianto that, though she looked composed, she had literally dashed from her desk.

'Mr Cromwell!' she said, smiling in a way that Ianto now knew to be quite false. 'It's an honour to have you here. Really, it is. Did Ianto offer you tea or coffee?'

Cromwell nodded and made a gruff affirmative noise in the back of his throat. 'So he's here?' he asked.

'Yes,' said Bev. 'We've got him in Holding Room 4. Quite a turn up for the books. We thought at first he might be somebody else, but then he said something… We made the connection. How many years has it been?'

'Too many,' said Cromwell. 'And I'm sure I don't need to remind you of what happened last time.'

'Quite,' said Bev. 'Shall we go through and see him? I'm sure the two of you have a lot to catch up on.'

Bev walked Cromwell across the department, and through the security doors at the other end of the room. Those doors were clearance A5 and above, with A1 being the highest clearance in the organisation. Ianto was at clearance level C10.

'So what do you think that's all about?' said Martin leaning across his desk to watch them leave. 'All very mysterious. Very hush-hush.'

'It's about the intruder,' said Jason, a spotty youth who provided most of the IT back-up for Information Retrieval. 'Somebody got in here last night. S'about as much as I know.'

Ianto said nothing. He focused instead on the task of finishing a spreadsheet for the department's projected expenditure in the next quarter. It was an interminably dull job but, as he kept reminding himself, somebody had to do it and, for now at least, that somebody was him.

He had not been working for more than another fifteen minutes when the alarm rang, and a pre-recorded voice came from the overhead speakers:

'Please be aware that an emergency situation has been reported in the building. Could all staff please make their way toward the nearest exits in a calm and orderly fashion and meet at their arranged fire assembly points.'

Ianto looked at his colleagues. Each one of them had turned very pale.

'What is it?' Ianto asked. 'A fire?'

'No,' said Jason, who already had his jacket on and was walking briskly toward the doors. 'The fire alarm sounds different. This is something else.'

Ianto was the last to leave the office and, before he disappeared through the door, Martin turned to him and said, 'Come on, Ianto. We have to go.'

They filed out of Information Retrieval and found the concourse between the different departments on the twelfth floor already crowded with people, some of whom looked terrified, some merely bewildered.

'Has this happened before?' Ianto asked.

'Once,' said Martin, who was now sandwiched uncomfortably between two very large women. 'About two