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Chapter 04 – Recruited
London, 2002, after a successful joint operation between the CIA and the Home Office
When Jack Harkness was brought out of the medically induced coma two weeks later, he still found himself in considerable pain. Also, he was hooked up to more tubes and machines than he’d ever seen, save for sensationalist hospital series on the telly and could barely move… not that he’d felt like trying anyway.. His throat was horribly sore – small wonder, considering that he’d been choked to the verge of suffocation at least a dozen times – and he was dying from thirst.
“Here, try some ice chips,” a deep female voice said. “And don’t attempt to speak. Your windpipe is as badly bruised as the rest of you, and your vocal cords are still healing.
He felt something cold and metallic – presumably a spoon – nudge his parched lips. He opened his mouth obediently, and in the next moment he could feel the blessed coolness soothing his dry mouth and aching throat.
Opening his eyes, he saw a woman of indefinite age sitting at his bedside. She could have been anything between thirty-five and sixty, and she definitely wasn’t a nurse, seeing that she was wearing an elegant, pin-striped trouser suit with a silk blouse, and there was something in her bearing that practically screamed ‘military’.
There was also a faint residue of cigarette smoke clinging to her, and Jack tried his best not to cough. That would have been painful in his current state of health… or rather the lack of it.
She gave him some more ice chips and smiled. She had a beautiful, slightly mischievous smile like that of a young girl; one that didn’t match either her posh accent or the expressive elegance of her clothing.
“Better?” she asked, and Jack nodded weakly. That seemed to satisfy her, because she smiled at him again. “Welcome back among the living, Captain Harkness. I’m Air Commodore Diane Holmes. Well, I was until recently. Now I’m just a retired old lady, meddling with the affairs of MI5 on my nephew’s behalf, since I seem to have too much spare time and too little to do with it.”
“Your… nephew?” Jack croaked, despite her previous warning not to speak. He needed to know where he was and why he was here.
“Mycroft Holmes,” she explained readily enough while feeding him some more ice chips. “You might have heard of him, although I doubt that your security clearance would have been high enough for that.”
Jack grinned weakly. His security clearance had been practically nonexistent when it came to the people pulling the strings behind the really big anti-terrorist actions, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t get more info than he was entitled to if he put his mind to it. So yes, he had heard of Mycroft Holmes, the Deputy Director’s mysterious contact in nearly all of his dealing with the British Secret Service… but that had been basically it.
There was a file on Mr Holmes in Stone’s safe, of course. A meagre and rather unremarkable file that read like the uneventful career of a minor bureaucrat working directly for and with the British Government. The truth about him was in the double row of codes on the bottom half of the last page; codes representing the various terrorist threats Mr Holmes had helped to neutralise.
Somehow it didn’t seem surprising that the guy would have an aunt who was a retired Air Commodore and clearly enjoyed to meddle with dangerous things in her spare tame.
Then he belatedly realised that the lady had been speaking of his career as a freelance CIA agent in past tense. As something that was well and truly over.
Again, not really surprising. That motherf*cker Stone had left him behind to die, after all.
“What… happens now?” he croaked. It wasn’t the most elaborate question but the lady pilot understood his meaning.
“With you?” she asked back. “Well, that’s your choice, of course. First of all you’ll need to heal. We’ll see into that. Fortunately, you seem to have the constitution of an ox. Doctor Harper says you’ll make a full recovery, though it may take some time. After that? You can return to the States, although that may not be the safest thing for you to do.”
No, it wasn’t, and Jack knew it. Stone would find another way to get rid of him – permanently, this time. He weakly shook his head… and regretted it promptly when a fresh wave of nausea hit him. If one could speak of nausea and fresh in the same context.
“Or you can stay here, since you do have dual citizenship,” the lady continued after he’d finished vomiting. “My team can always use someone of your skills; and freelancers get paid, too. My nephew can deal with the paperwork easily,” she rang the nurse to take the pan away, and then she rose. “Get better, Captain, and don’t worry. This is one of the safest places in England. No-one can get to you without permission. And while you’re recovering, think about my offer. You won’t regret accepting it.”
~The End – for now~