Doctor Who and the Star of Arcadia - Piccadilly is a Circus 5/16
Title: Doctor Who and the Star of Arcadia - Piccadilly is a Circus 5/16
Characters: Jack Harkness, Ianto Jones, The Doctor (10), OFC, OMCs, Brigadier Lethbridge-Stewart, Benton, Johnson
Pairings: Jack/Ianto
Disclaimer: Neither Torchwood or Doctor Who are mine
Summary: In the Citadel of the Time Lords, about 250 million light years away from Earth, a number of elements were protected in case they fell into the wrong hands. If an exhibit was deemed to be powerful enough to corrupt in the wrong hands it was usually destroyed, or if that was found to be impossible, it was split into segments and kept apart from itself in case it were stolen.
Spoilers: Children of Earth
Rating: R
Warning: Mentions of BDSM and abuse
A/N: This is a sequel to Doctor Who’s End Game. The Whole thing starts with Doctor Who and the Cathedral of Light.
Prologue here
Agent Johnson and Louise Ruth walked quietly away from the underground, bathed in flashing lights from the advertisements of Piccadilly Circus, just off Soho, knowing that they were being followed.
Whoever it was was good, that was for sure. For two hours they’d travelled across London, following the tracking device until they satisfied themselves that they weren’t followed and that the star point was here. In stark contrast to the battle that was raging beneath their feet London seemed to be as vibrant and full of life as it ever was.
As they walked, following the signal, which was more defined and clear above ground, Johnson felt eyes on her as they burned into the back of her skull. Carefully they crossed the main road towards two flats set above a chemist. The Rani might be dead but her minions still roamed the Earth with annoying impunity.
Ducking down a side street, away from the main through fair Johnson checked a small, calculator-like box she’d removed from her jacket pocket. The readings for alien life forms were off the scale, but that wasn’t surprising after their yeti encounter. Looking around she froze in her tracks pulling Louise Ruth up beside her.
‘What is it?’ Louise Ruth asked as Johnson searched the square, taking everything in.
‘It’s the Rani’s troops, they’ve come for us I’m afraid.’
‘And how do you know that?’ Louise Ruth asked scanning the area around her for any signs of alien life.
‘Any group of attackers will trap a target in the same way and we have a similar reaction pattern here. In fact any disciplined force will put a stamp on each of its members making them instantly recognisable to each other. That’s why it’s very difficult for policemen, especially long serving policemen, to go undercover. They’ll be spotted immediately. On top of that, a basic motivation pattern will give away a group who are acting with the same goal in mind. Hence they are alien and they’re trying to coral us.’
Louise Ruth again looked around nervously, annoyed that she couldn’t see anything. ‘Where? Who? I mean…damn.’ she blustered, trying to get her head around what Agent Johnson had just said.
‘Don’t look at them. Try and scan the crowd without looking as if you’re scanning the crowd.’ Louise Ruth looked mystified as Johnson continued.
‘See… it’s a classic attack formation. Four people are standing very still in each of the four corners of the square and they’re all looking in our direction. By themselves they’re not remarkable, or stand out in any way. Each could be a tourist taking in the sights, or just waiting for someone, but together they represent a clear and present danger… to us.’
At one corner Louise Ruth caught sight of a woman, blonde hair worn up, wearing a heavy coat that didn’t fit the weather conditions, but was long enough to conceal a knife, sword or even an automatic rifle.
On the second point of the square stood a heavy bearded man wearing a black suit and white shirt and tie, again not in keeping with the weather, as sweat was pouring from his reddened face as he too scanned the crowd.
At the third corner of the square was a second man, tall and muscular with a pale complexion and wearing dark sunglasses. He was in his early thirties, late twenties and had an air about him that exuded confidence. It was this man that Johnson recognised, not his face but his way of moving. The man, she knew, was Special Forces trained and he was also an alien life form. She knew that this wasn’t a coincidence. Whoever was controlling this would be here positioned somewhere outside the square, probably looking down on the proceedings.
‘If it was the Rani,’ Louise Ruth thought to herself, ‘then how had she survived the time loop, and why was she here, revenge?’ Whatever the reason the Rani’s minions had found her and now they were moving in for the kill.
‘Don’t look around.’ Johnson said softly, still keeping watch on the three corners of attack she’d already spotted. ‘Make it look as if you’re examining Eros and check out the crowd behind him.’
Louise Ruth shrugged. Scanning the crowd she immediately picked out another fat man gazing across the road from them, unmoving, probing the crowd for something or someone. Slowly their eyes met as the fat man’s hand disappeared inside his coat. ‘The fat man’s got a gun,’ was all she said as she turned back towards Johnson realising she’d already headed off into the crowed.
Combat was what Johnson was good at and what she lived for. She was going to hurt them and make them pay for the death of the boy, Steven Carter, and they didn’t even know him. Johnson’s voice came over the net communicator starling Louise Ruth for a moment.
‘They’re moving into attack formation. Their actions are co-ordinated. You’ve got the stun gun with you?’
She nodded, and then felt silly as agent Johnson couldn’t see her. ‘Yes… Ianto gave me a new one… more powerful than the last.’
‘Right… when this goes down get it out and be ready. You’ll not get a second chance. Anyone comes near you let them have it, you understand?’
She again nodded, fingering the steel and plastic gun that was fastened to the inside of her shoulder bag. Remembering again that she was on a communicator she said, yes.
Quickly she removed the black and yellow gun and held it below waist level so it would be invisible to the four killers as they advanced on her. Her hands were trembling and she could hardly breathe. The last time she’d been in a fight she’d nearly died, and the memories came flooding back trying to disarm her before the fight had even started. Looking across at the fat man behind the statue of Eros she paused for a moment, a smile spread across her face removing any doubt that they were in the right place and at the right time.
Slowly Johnson removed a silenced SIG Sauer P228 from her belt, holding it under her coat for concealment. Suddenly, from the corner of her eye she noticed the blonde woman turn and remove her headscarf, clearly a sign to the fat man to make his move on Louise Ruth.
As if gesturing towards a mime artist, painted in silver and standing on a block, Johnson fired the first round from the SIG, the one that she had meant for herself only days earlier.
At the same time Louise Ruth turned to meet the on rush of the fat man as he brought a small alien-like pistol to bear. Twisting away from his line of sight she fired the first set of darts from the stun gun. Both projectiles caught the man across the throat and he went down fast gasping and clawing at his neck.
The second fat man was quicker. He hit her shoulder sending her falling backward in a bone jarring smash into the concrete ground. Realising that the stun gun had been fired the fat man took his time. With a smile that was pure evil he drew out a large Ghurkha knife, its curved blade swooping down towards her exposed throat.
With a smile of her own she fired the two remaining sets of darts into his face. His skull seemed to explode outward as blood poured from his eyes and ears as he fell backward. His smile turned into a look of shock and incomprehension. ‘Thank you Ianto, the other two sets of darts gets them every time.’ Looking down at the two fat men she noticed a steel collar that ran completely round their necks. Shrugging she tried to stand but her leg was still hurting.
What followed amazed even Johnson as a serious of explosions ripped into the crowd. An unseen sniper opened up on the square hitting anything and everything that moved. Terrified screams filled Louise Ruth’s ears. Keeping low, she noticed the blonde woman lying on her back; a single round had hit her in the base of her neck. Probably, Louise Ruth thought, from Johnson’s SIG. She too had a steel collar round her neck.
As Johnson rolled to the ground she caught a glimpse of the athletic men staggering towards her, the bullet she had fired at him showing a clear entry wound to the right side of his face. Taking a single step towards her he shivered, then fell face first to the ground. She had missed his throat, she realised. She was getting sloppy.
Running at a crouch she dragged Louise Ruth to her feet and moved as fast as she could, bumping into others that ran fleeing from the scene. Instead of running away from the shots they headed towards them and the building they were being fired from. An elderly man standing only two feet from them was struck by a badly aimed round and the back of his head disappeared in a shower of crimson. A woman fell screaming before them as they passed, her right shoulders a mass of blood.
Ducking down a back ally way the gunfire ceased as abruptly as it had begun as the elevation was too great for the shots to track them. Only the shouts and screams of pain continued as everyone that could evacuated the square. Others banged into them, as the crowd became a stampede of panicked humanity fighting desperately to live, to get away from the rain of death that picked out individuals for no other reason than they were there.
As they plunged into the depths of the chaos they rushed headlong with the others disappearing into the maddened scared crowd that flooded down a side street like water finding the path of least resistance. Ducking into the maze of ally-ways they eventually lost the fleeing mass of people and pushed their way into a shop door way, which opened behind them. This was at the rear of the sniper’s position. If he was still up there, Johnson mused, then this was the only way he was coming out and she planned to ruin his day.
The sign behind them said that the shop was in fact a massage parlour and one of Soho’s finest. Realising that they were deep in the heart of Soho, Johnson let Louise Ruth stand on her own, for the first time and pushed her way into the building. From her experience she knew that places like this had a back door, which was always kept unlocked. The rule was that punters entered the front door and the workers left by the back door, sometimes on the run when the opposition was after them, and there was always opposition in a business like this.
Walking straight up to the counter Agent Johnson hit the pimp with the ridge of her right hand catching him just below the left ear. The heavy set young man staggered backward, a look of incomprehension on his face. Years and years of training and steroids had honed his body into a fighting machine. He was hard, the best, the Mixed Martial Arts champion at his weight category. With that thought in mind he dropped on the spot without a sound. Agent Johnson watched as the pimp fell, knowing that a conscious person would always try to break his fall in some way. The pimp didn’t even try. His head smacked into the concrete floor with a sickening thud.
Walking through the now unguarded rear entrance Johnson, closely followed by Louise Ruth, headed through the dark corridor stopping at the first door they came to. The stench of sweat, rotten carpet and urine was strong, masked only slightly by the heavy sickly-sweet smell of dope, which hung constantly in the air.
Without bothering with the handle Johnson slammed her foot against the lock sending the door springing backward throwing the man, who stood behind it, squarely on his back. Louise Ruth almost screamed out at the sight of the naked man with a leather mask over his face. He was roughly eighteen stone of middle aged business man, and he was now unconscious.
A muffled scream from their right warned them that they were not alone in the room. A girl, that could have been no more than eighteen, was fastened to a table, the red welts on her back and buttocks made Johnson angry. As Louise Ruth unfastened her, agent Johnson kicked the unconscious man as hard as she could between the legs. With mascara smeared eyes the girl wrapped herself in a bath robe and, bare footed, kicked the man twice herself. The action itself stopped Johnson who would have continued kicking the man until he bled to death from his wounds.
Tapping her on the shoulder Louise Ruth pointed to a second door behind them. The girl turned and, picking up the businessman’s wallet, walked out of the shop. Quickly, Johnson opened the door. It led to a set of steps that spiralled their way upward. From the noise on the metal steps they realised that someone was coming down and fast. Standing either side of the steps they waited.
It wasn’t long before a heavy set man ran down the stairs just as Louise Ruth tripped him. Agent Johnson managed to kick him in the side as he fell to the concrete floor with a sickening thud. A small case, which probably housed the sniper rifle clattered to the floor next to him and burst open. Johnson immediately recognised the 7.62x51mm M40 United States Marine Corps standard issue sniper rifle as it rolled out of the case. Picking it up by the barrel she smashed it against the wall and dropped it on top of its previous owner. Reaching down Louise Ruth checked his pulse and shook her head.
‘He’s so dead he probably couldn’t be more dead.’ Looking down Johnson saw the steel collar and the odd angle his neck was lying at and turned and walked away. Passing the still unconscious man she gave him one last kick in the ribs and left the shop with Louise Ruth close on her heals. ‘I’m sensing a little hostility here. If you ever want to talk about it…?’ Louise Ruth left the question open as she tried to keep up with Johnson’s quickening pace.
The killings hadn’t helped her. Johnson still remembered the boy, still remembered the blood running from his eyes and his small insignificant body as it twisted and turned in pain and agony as he died. His face was imprinted on her mind and would remain there until she blew it away or she killed enough people to blur it so it was unrecognisable.
‘That was a complete waste of time. Now we’re back to square one without any idea where the horn is.’
‘Not quite,’ Louise Ruth added as she took agent Johnson by the arm and led her back towards Piccadilly Circus. ‘I know that this sounds terrible... but Eros has got the horn.’
***
After a sleepless night in a hostel off the Edgware Road, Louise Ruth and agent Johnson sat upstairs in coffee shop just outside Notting Hill Gate tube station, drinking black coffee while they read the local newspapers for any evidence of them having been noticed. The Daily Mirror was filled with images and accounts of the shooting at Piccadilly Circus.
‘Early reports stated that the lone gunman had been shot dead by security forces while trying to flee the seen.’
As Louise Ruth read on, Johnson removed the horn from her trouser pouch and examined it. In complete contrast to the black horn of jet, this was brilliant white, almost marble in colour and seemed to sparkle in the overhead light. Running her hands across its length she could feel the power like electric shocks tingling through her gloved hands. sing an old UNIT ID the Brigadier had given her, she had entered the crime scene the next morning and retrieved the horn without too much trouble.
Smiling, Louise Ruth took another tentative sip from her cup and breathed a sigh of relief. Johnson looked at her wondering what motivated her to continue. She wasn’t trained for this sort of thing and seemed to accept whatever happened as normal.
‘What were those steel collars they were wearing for? All of them had one, including the sniper.’ Louise Ruth asked through tentative sips.
Johnson nodded, ‘I read a UNIT report once from a soldier way back in the sixties. Mott… that’s him…Captain Wilfred Mott.’ Louise Ruth’s eyes lit up. She’d known Wilf as one of the UNIT soldiers that had been cloned by the Sontarans.
‘He apparently had a run in with a race called the Daleks when he went travelling with the Doctor when he was young… before he joined UNIT. Wherever he was he bumped into a number of people from Earth that the Daleks controlled by using a steel collar… I assume like this one. They were called Robo-men I think. Perhaps the Rani’s used similar technology to control them to guard the star points.’
Louise nodded, sounded logical to her. Taking another sip of her coffee she returned her attention back to the newspaper she was holding. Something had caught her eye. Looking up at Louise Ruth Johnson was momentarily stunned at her ashen white face.
‘What’s the matter?’ she asked, not understanding what was going on. Slowly Louise Ruth pointed at a section in front of her. Johnson followed her gaze as the face of the Secretary of State for War John Profumo, was mounted in a small box to the right of the article on the shooting.
‘They’re calling him the hero of the hour. Apparently he was found on the outskirts of Piccadilly Circus after single-handedly tackling the gunman. He’d received multiple blows to his groin and ribcage and detained the gunman long enough for the army to take him out.’ Agent Johnson didn’t recognise the Secretary of State’s face but his fat body was unmistakable as was the bruises she had inflicted on him earlier.
‘The fat bastard… I should have castrated him when I had the chance.’ Looking at each other they both broke into laughter at the absurdity of the situation.
‘I’m detecting definite unresolved issues…? Sorry… you don’t have to tell me. It’s your business not mine.’ Agent Johnson nodded and took a sip of her coffee. The silence lasted almost five minutes until it was broken by Johnson.
‘It was my husband… Mark. I trusted him. I loved him until he hit me… yes he said he was sorry and didn’t mean it and I believed him.’ She paused to take another sip while Louise Ruth remained quiet. ‘Because I’d let him off with it once, so to speak, he did it again… and again. I called the police a few times but that didn’t stop him. The last straw was when he attacked me with a chainsaw.’
The look of shock showed clearly on Louise Ruth’s face but despite herself she remained quiet. Looking at Johnson she just managed to make out a smile before she hid it with her coffee cup. Finally Johnson spoke.
‘The daft bastard couldn’t get it started and the police arrested him, chainsaw in hand.’ Slowly she took a mouthful of the now cooling liquid as she remembered the incident. ‘They tried to tell me that he had abusive parents… that they’d committed suicide and it had affected his judgement. A progressive psychiatrist told me it wasn’t his fault, that he was probably a product of his own gene pool. If that were so then I think someone had pissed in his.’
Louise Ruth watched in silence as Johnson took another mouthful of coffee savouring its bitter taste. ‘That’s why I hate men who abuse women. If I had my way I’d kill them all without a trial.’
Taking a last mouthful, Johnson removed the horn from her cargo pants pocket and placed it upright on the table. Smiling, Louise Ruth wrapped her hand around the top of the horn and thought of the conference room in the year 2010, where there journey had started. With only a wisp of fluttering air they left 1962 never to return.
A/N: I think it was on QI where they said that the statue isn’t Eros, but I kept it as Eros because everyone assumes it to be him anyway…
The Cricketer at Brendon School 6/16
Characters: Jack Harkness, Ianto Jones, The Doctor (10), OFC, OMCs, Brigadier Lethbridge-Stewart, Benton, Johnson
Pairings: Jack/Ianto
Disclaimer: Neither Torchwood or Doctor Who are mine
Summary: In the Citadel of the Time Lords, about 250 million light years away from Earth, a number of elements were protected in case they fell into the wrong hands. If an exhibit was deemed to be powerful enough to corrupt in the wrong hands it was usually destroyed, or if that was found to be impossible, it was split into segments and kept apart from itself in case it were stolen.
Spoilers: Children of Earth
Rating: R
Warning: Mentions of BDSM and abuse
A/N: This is a sequel to Doctor Who’s End Game. The Whole thing starts with Doctor Who and the Cathedral of Light.
Prologue here
Agent Johnson and Louise Ruth walked quietly away from the underground, bathed in flashing lights from the advertisements of Piccadilly Circus, just off Soho, knowing that they were being followed.
Whoever it was was good, that was for sure. For two hours they’d travelled across London, following the tracking device until they satisfied themselves that they weren’t followed and that the star point was here. In stark contrast to the battle that was raging beneath their feet London seemed to be as vibrant and full of life as it ever was.
As they walked, following the signal, which was more defined and clear above ground, Johnson felt eyes on her as they burned into the back of her skull. Carefully they crossed the main road towards two flats set above a chemist. The Rani might be dead but her minions still roamed the Earth with annoying impunity.
Ducking down a side street, away from the main through fair Johnson checked a small, calculator-like box she’d removed from her jacket pocket. The readings for alien life forms were off the scale, but that wasn’t surprising after their yeti encounter. Looking around she froze in her tracks pulling Louise Ruth up beside her.
‘What is it?’ Louise Ruth asked as Johnson searched the square, taking everything in.
‘It’s the Rani’s troops, they’ve come for us I’m afraid.’
‘And how do you know that?’ Louise Ruth asked scanning the area around her for any signs of alien life.
‘Any group of attackers will trap a target in the same way and we have a similar reaction pattern here. In fact any disciplined force will put a stamp on each of its members making them instantly recognisable to each other. That’s why it’s very difficult for policemen, especially long serving policemen, to go undercover. They’ll be spotted immediately. On top of that, a basic motivation pattern will give away a group who are acting with the same goal in mind. Hence they are alien and they’re trying to coral us.’
Louise Ruth again looked around nervously, annoyed that she couldn’t see anything. ‘Where? Who? I mean…damn.’ she blustered, trying to get her head around what Agent Johnson had just said.
‘Don’t look at them. Try and scan the crowd without looking as if you’re scanning the crowd.’ Louise Ruth looked mystified as Johnson continued.
‘See… it’s a classic attack formation. Four people are standing very still in each of the four corners of the square and they’re all looking in our direction. By themselves they’re not remarkable, or stand out in any way. Each could be a tourist taking in the sights, or just waiting for someone, but together they represent a clear and present danger… to us.’
At one corner Louise Ruth caught sight of a woman, blonde hair worn up, wearing a heavy coat that didn’t fit the weather conditions, but was long enough to conceal a knife, sword or even an automatic rifle.
On the second point of the square stood a heavy bearded man wearing a black suit and white shirt and tie, again not in keeping with the weather, as sweat was pouring from his reddened face as he too scanned the crowd.
At the third corner of the square was a second man, tall and muscular with a pale complexion and wearing dark sunglasses. He was in his early thirties, late twenties and had an air about him that exuded confidence. It was this man that Johnson recognised, not his face but his way of moving. The man, she knew, was Special Forces trained and he was also an alien life form. She knew that this wasn’t a coincidence. Whoever was controlling this would be here positioned somewhere outside the square, probably looking down on the proceedings.
‘If it was the Rani,’ Louise Ruth thought to herself, ‘then how had she survived the time loop, and why was she here, revenge?’ Whatever the reason the Rani’s minions had found her and now they were moving in for the kill.
‘Don’t look around.’ Johnson said softly, still keeping watch on the three corners of attack she’d already spotted. ‘Make it look as if you’re examining Eros and check out the crowd behind him.’
Louise Ruth shrugged. Scanning the crowd she immediately picked out another fat man gazing across the road from them, unmoving, probing the crowd for something or someone. Slowly their eyes met as the fat man’s hand disappeared inside his coat. ‘The fat man’s got a gun,’ was all she said as she turned back towards Johnson realising she’d already headed off into the crowed.
Combat was what Johnson was good at and what she lived for. She was going to hurt them and make them pay for the death of the boy, Steven Carter, and they didn’t even know him. Johnson’s voice came over the net communicator starling Louise Ruth for a moment.
‘They’re moving into attack formation. Their actions are co-ordinated. You’ve got the stun gun with you?’
She nodded, and then felt silly as agent Johnson couldn’t see her. ‘Yes… Ianto gave me a new one… more powerful than the last.’
‘Right… when this goes down get it out and be ready. You’ll not get a second chance. Anyone comes near you let them have it, you understand?’
She again nodded, fingering the steel and plastic gun that was fastened to the inside of her shoulder bag. Remembering again that she was on a communicator she said, yes.
Quickly she removed the black and yellow gun and held it below waist level so it would be invisible to the four killers as they advanced on her. Her hands were trembling and she could hardly breathe. The last time she’d been in a fight she’d nearly died, and the memories came flooding back trying to disarm her before the fight had even started. Looking across at the fat man behind the statue of Eros she paused for a moment, a smile spread across her face removing any doubt that they were in the right place and at the right time.
Slowly Johnson removed a silenced SIG Sauer P228 from her belt, holding it under her coat for concealment. Suddenly, from the corner of her eye she noticed the blonde woman turn and remove her headscarf, clearly a sign to the fat man to make his move on Louise Ruth.
As if gesturing towards a mime artist, painted in silver and standing on a block, Johnson fired the first round from the SIG, the one that she had meant for herself only days earlier.
At the same time Louise Ruth turned to meet the on rush of the fat man as he brought a small alien-like pistol to bear. Twisting away from his line of sight she fired the first set of darts from the stun gun. Both projectiles caught the man across the throat and he went down fast gasping and clawing at his neck.
The second fat man was quicker. He hit her shoulder sending her falling backward in a bone jarring smash into the concrete ground. Realising that the stun gun had been fired the fat man took his time. With a smile that was pure evil he drew out a large Ghurkha knife, its curved blade swooping down towards her exposed throat.
With a smile of her own she fired the two remaining sets of darts into his face. His skull seemed to explode outward as blood poured from his eyes and ears as he fell backward. His smile turned into a look of shock and incomprehension. ‘Thank you Ianto, the other two sets of darts gets them every time.’ Looking down at the two fat men she noticed a steel collar that ran completely round their necks. Shrugging she tried to stand but her leg was still hurting.
What followed amazed even Johnson as a serious of explosions ripped into the crowd. An unseen sniper opened up on the square hitting anything and everything that moved. Terrified screams filled Louise Ruth’s ears. Keeping low, she noticed the blonde woman lying on her back; a single round had hit her in the base of her neck. Probably, Louise Ruth thought, from Johnson’s SIG. She too had a steel collar round her neck.
As Johnson rolled to the ground she caught a glimpse of the athletic men staggering towards her, the bullet she had fired at him showing a clear entry wound to the right side of his face. Taking a single step towards her he shivered, then fell face first to the ground. She had missed his throat, she realised. She was getting sloppy.
Running at a crouch she dragged Louise Ruth to her feet and moved as fast as she could, bumping into others that ran fleeing from the scene. Instead of running away from the shots they headed towards them and the building they were being fired from. An elderly man standing only two feet from them was struck by a badly aimed round and the back of his head disappeared in a shower of crimson. A woman fell screaming before them as they passed, her right shoulders a mass of blood.
Ducking down a back ally way the gunfire ceased as abruptly as it had begun as the elevation was too great for the shots to track them. Only the shouts and screams of pain continued as everyone that could evacuated the square. Others banged into them, as the crowd became a stampede of panicked humanity fighting desperately to live, to get away from the rain of death that picked out individuals for no other reason than they were there.
As they plunged into the depths of the chaos they rushed headlong with the others disappearing into the maddened scared crowd that flooded down a side street like water finding the path of least resistance. Ducking into the maze of ally-ways they eventually lost the fleeing mass of people and pushed their way into a shop door way, which opened behind them. This was at the rear of the sniper’s position. If he was still up there, Johnson mused, then this was the only way he was coming out and she planned to ruin his day.
The sign behind them said that the shop was in fact a massage parlour and one of Soho’s finest. Realising that they were deep in the heart of Soho, Johnson let Louise Ruth stand on her own, for the first time and pushed her way into the building. From her experience she knew that places like this had a back door, which was always kept unlocked. The rule was that punters entered the front door and the workers left by the back door, sometimes on the run when the opposition was after them, and there was always opposition in a business like this.
Walking straight up to the counter Agent Johnson hit the pimp with the ridge of her right hand catching him just below the left ear. The heavy set young man staggered backward, a look of incomprehension on his face. Years and years of training and steroids had honed his body into a fighting machine. He was hard, the best, the Mixed Martial Arts champion at his weight category. With that thought in mind he dropped on the spot without a sound. Agent Johnson watched as the pimp fell, knowing that a conscious person would always try to break his fall in some way. The pimp didn’t even try. His head smacked into the concrete floor with a sickening thud.
Walking through the now unguarded rear entrance Johnson, closely followed by Louise Ruth, headed through the dark corridor stopping at the first door they came to. The stench of sweat, rotten carpet and urine was strong, masked only slightly by the heavy sickly-sweet smell of dope, which hung constantly in the air.
Without bothering with the handle Johnson slammed her foot against the lock sending the door springing backward throwing the man, who stood behind it, squarely on his back. Louise Ruth almost screamed out at the sight of the naked man with a leather mask over his face. He was roughly eighteen stone of middle aged business man, and he was now unconscious.
A muffled scream from their right warned them that they were not alone in the room. A girl, that could have been no more than eighteen, was fastened to a table, the red welts on her back and buttocks made Johnson angry. As Louise Ruth unfastened her, agent Johnson kicked the unconscious man as hard as she could between the legs. With mascara smeared eyes the girl wrapped herself in a bath robe and, bare footed, kicked the man twice herself. The action itself stopped Johnson who would have continued kicking the man until he bled to death from his wounds.
Tapping her on the shoulder Louise Ruth pointed to a second door behind them. The girl turned and, picking up the businessman’s wallet, walked out of the shop. Quickly, Johnson opened the door. It led to a set of steps that spiralled their way upward. From the noise on the metal steps they realised that someone was coming down and fast. Standing either side of the steps they waited.
It wasn’t long before a heavy set man ran down the stairs just as Louise Ruth tripped him. Agent Johnson managed to kick him in the side as he fell to the concrete floor with a sickening thud. A small case, which probably housed the sniper rifle clattered to the floor next to him and burst open. Johnson immediately recognised the 7.62x51mm M40 United States Marine Corps standard issue sniper rifle as it rolled out of the case. Picking it up by the barrel she smashed it against the wall and dropped it on top of its previous owner. Reaching down Louise Ruth checked his pulse and shook her head.
‘He’s so dead he probably couldn’t be more dead.’ Looking down Johnson saw the steel collar and the odd angle his neck was lying at and turned and walked away. Passing the still unconscious man she gave him one last kick in the ribs and left the shop with Louise Ruth close on her heals. ‘I’m sensing a little hostility here. If you ever want to talk about it…?’ Louise Ruth left the question open as she tried to keep up with Johnson’s quickening pace.
The killings hadn’t helped her. Johnson still remembered the boy, still remembered the blood running from his eyes and his small insignificant body as it twisted and turned in pain and agony as he died. His face was imprinted on her mind and would remain there until she blew it away or she killed enough people to blur it so it was unrecognisable.
‘That was a complete waste of time. Now we’re back to square one without any idea where the horn is.’
‘Not quite,’ Louise Ruth added as she took agent Johnson by the arm and led her back towards Piccadilly Circus. ‘I know that this sounds terrible... but Eros has got the horn.’
***
After a sleepless night in a hostel off the Edgware Road, Louise Ruth and agent Johnson sat upstairs in coffee shop just outside Notting Hill Gate tube station, drinking black coffee while they read the local newspapers for any evidence of them having been noticed. The Daily Mirror was filled with images and accounts of the shooting at Piccadilly Circus.
‘Early reports stated that the lone gunman had been shot dead by security forces while trying to flee the seen.’
As Louise Ruth read on, Johnson removed the horn from her trouser pouch and examined it. In complete contrast to the black horn of jet, this was brilliant white, almost marble in colour and seemed to sparkle in the overhead light. Running her hands across its length she could feel the power like electric shocks tingling through her gloved hands. sing an old UNIT ID the Brigadier had given her, she had entered the crime scene the next morning and retrieved the horn without too much trouble.
Smiling, Louise Ruth took another tentative sip from her cup and breathed a sigh of relief. Johnson looked at her wondering what motivated her to continue. She wasn’t trained for this sort of thing and seemed to accept whatever happened as normal.
‘What were those steel collars they were wearing for? All of them had one, including the sniper.’ Louise Ruth asked through tentative sips.
Johnson nodded, ‘I read a UNIT report once from a soldier way back in the sixties. Mott… that’s him…Captain Wilfred Mott.’ Louise Ruth’s eyes lit up. She’d known Wilf as one of the UNIT soldiers that had been cloned by the Sontarans.
‘He apparently had a run in with a race called the Daleks when he went travelling with the Doctor when he was young… before he joined UNIT. Wherever he was he bumped into a number of people from Earth that the Daleks controlled by using a steel collar… I assume like this one. They were called Robo-men I think. Perhaps the Rani’s used similar technology to control them to guard the star points.’
Louise nodded, sounded logical to her. Taking another sip of her coffee she returned her attention back to the newspaper she was holding. Something had caught her eye. Looking up at Louise Ruth Johnson was momentarily stunned at her ashen white face.
‘What’s the matter?’ she asked, not understanding what was going on. Slowly Louise Ruth pointed at a section in front of her. Johnson followed her gaze as the face of the Secretary of State for War John Profumo, was mounted in a small box to the right of the article on the shooting.
‘They’re calling him the hero of the hour. Apparently he was found on the outskirts of Piccadilly Circus after single-handedly tackling the gunman. He’d received multiple blows to his groin and ribcage and detained the gunman long enough for the army to take him out.’ Agent Johnson didn’t recognise the Secretary of State’s face but his fat body was unmistakable as was the bruises she had inflicted on him earlier.
‘The fat bastard… I should have castrated him when I had the chance.’ Looking at each other they both broke into laughter at the absurdity of the situation.
‘I’m detecting definite unresolved issues…? Sorry… you don’t have to tell me. It’s your business not mine.’ Agent Johnson nodded and took a sip of her coffee. The silence lasted almost five minutes until it was broken by Johnson.
‘It was my husband… Mark. I trusted him. I loved him until he hit me… yes he said he was sorry and didn’t mean it and I believed him.’ She paused to take another sip while Louise Ruth remained quiet. ‘Because I’d let him off with it once, so to speak, he did it again… and again. I called the police a few times but that didn’t stop him. The last straw was when he attacked me with a chainsaw.’
The look of shock showed clearly on Louise Ruth’s face but despite herself she remained quiet. Looking at Johnson she just managed to make out a smile before she hid it with her coffee cup. Finally Johnson spoke.
‘The daft bastard couldn’t get it started and the police arrested him, chainsaw in hand.’ Slowly she took a mouthful of the now cooling liquid as she remembered the incident. ‘They tried to tell me that he had abusive parents… that they’d committed suicide and it had affected his judgement. A progressive psychiatrist told me it wasn’t his fault, that he was probably a product of his own gene pool. If that were so then I think someone had pissed in his.’
Louise Ruth watched in silence as Johnson took another mouthful of coffee savouring its bitter taste. ‘That’s why I hate men who abuse women. If I had my way I’d kill them all without a trial.’
Taking a last mouthful, Johnson removed the horn from her cargo pants pocket and placed it upright on the table. Smiling, Louise Ruth wrapped her hand around the top of the horn and thought of the conference room in the year 2010, where there journey had started. With only a wisp of fluttering air they left 1962 never to return.
A/N: I think it was on QI where they said that the statue isn’t Eros, but I kept it as Eros because everyone assumes it to be him anyway…
The Cricketer at Brendon School 6/16