Risk Assessment by James Goss Read Free Book Online Page A

drawn curtains, slicing jagged tears in the cheery floral pattern. Plaster dust filled the room.
    Jack pulled himself up off the ground, trying not to choke, and noticed Agnes already stood at the window, firing her gun at their attackers.
    Jack turned to the survivors – all sixteen of them, huddled in a grimy corner of the room. They looked at him, desperately.
    ‘Don’t worry,’ he said, ‘We’re going to get you out of here.’
    And without looking round from the window, Agnes spoke. ‘Captain Harkness,’ she said coldly, ‘should not promise what he cannot deliver.’
    Finally, Ianto was alone. The Hub ticked away to itself, like an intricate clockwork masterpiece slowly, steadily unwinding. Ianto cleared away some stray mugs, and closed down a couple of abandoned computer terminals, straightening up leftover paperwork and tidying away pencils and pens into appropriate slots. Hmm, a slight smear on Gwen’s monitor. Probably brown sauce. He’d give that a wipe down in a bit.
    He breathed out, relaxing quietly at the thought of another day over. The world still here. Good.
    ‘Mr Jones, a word if you please.’ Agnes’s voice rang through the Hub, and Ianto let out a little yelp of surprise.
    He wheeled round to Jack’s old office. The lights were off, but he could just see Agnes sat there in the darkness.
    ‘Miss Havisham?’ he said.
    Her silhouette moved, an arm beckoning. The motion triggered some lights into action, flickering across her face, which was smiling at him kindly.
    ‘Mr Jones. . . Ianto. . . Come through, come through,’ she said, patting a chair. She leaned over Jack’s desk, plucking a boiled sweet out of a jar, carefully unwrapping it, sucking on it thoughtfully while she neatly and precisely folded away the wrapper.
    Ianto sat down opposite her.
    ‘You’re working late,’ he said. ‘Well, you’re sitting in the dark. Which is freaky.’
    Agnes smiled pleasantly. ‘Actually, I was listening to the wireless,’ she said. She indicated an ancient valve radio, which was hissing quietly. She shrugged. ‘Nothing on.’
    Ianto leaned forward. ‘I can retune it. . . Red Dragon is. . .’
    She waved him away. ‘It’s on the correct channel. Please leave it be.’
    And so they sat, awkwardly, listening to static.
    ‘So,’ said Agnes.
    ‘Yes,’ said Ianto.
    ‘Have you worked here long?’ asked Agnes.
    Ianto immediately realised she knew the answer. She was the kind of woman who would have memorised his entire personnel file, even the awkward or curious bits that Jack had never bothered to write down. She was smiling at him with the pleasant complacency of someone who knew everything about him. Dangerous.
    ‘I worked at Torchwood One,’ he said.
    She nodded. ‘A fine place, which by all accounts came to a lamentable end.’ The smile widened, and she adopted a carefully confidential air. ‘I must admit that, at this precise moment, the Torchwood project looks like a noble failure. I feel that my role is almost redundant.’
    ‘Why didn’t you wake up when Torchwood One fell?’ Ianto asked. The wrong question.
    Agnes’s face thinned. ‘I can only suspect a catastrophic systems failure. I fear there’s only a point in awakening the Assessor when there is still a Torchwood branch to save. Why, when Torchwood Four went missing, all there was was. . .’
    Ianto leant forward, interested.
    Agnes waved a hand, dismissively. ‘. . .  an awful mess that we won’t go into here. But I’m sorry for Torchwood One. I must admit, I find the entire situation a bit of a shock. Imagine. The last time I go to sleep it’s the 1970s and, aside from some quite startling hairstyles, everything is in order. And then I wake up and find. . . well, it’s like discovering the loss of the Empire. When I first went to sleep most of the map was painted a bold red, Victoria was Empress of India, and Torchwood were busily plundering the Raj. First time I wake up, I glance at a copy of The Times ,