Read Torchwood: The Men Who Sold The World for Free Online

snipping off the tip of her tongue. The little pink sliver of meat stuck to her chin.
    ‘That’s the way, my dear,’ Mr Wynter said, leaning back on the rather comfortable couch. ‘Itcould have been worse – in my youth I was known to play awhile. These days I just don’t have the energy.’
    Penelope gave one last spasm then died, her forehead banging off the floor loud enough that it was followed a few seconds later by a remonstrative tap from below.
    ‘Such delicate neighbours you have,’ said Mr Wynter, getting to his feet and moving around the apartment. ‘Don’t worry, I shall be quiet. I wouldn’t want to give you a bad name.’
    He moved into the kitchen, opened a few cupboards and then smiled when his eyes fell on an open packet of cookies. ‘I do believe in being naughty once in a while,’ he said, untwisting the plastic packaging and pushing up a few cookies with his gloved thumb. He pulled one out and popped it in his mouth. Delicious.
    Coming back out of the kitchen, he looked around the room for Penelope’s cell. It was on a small table in the hall, along with her car keys and purse. He dropped the phone into his jacket pocket and unpacked the purse onto the table. Money, bits of tissue, make-up, all the usual detritus. Nothing troublesome. He replaced everything and put the purse back where he had found it.
    He walked through the main living area to the bedroom and en-suite bathroom. By the side of the bed he found a scrap of paper where Penelope had written a phone message. It said ‘Shaeffer – Havana – Extraction/ID – Gleason – experimental tech’. That last was ringed with an incredulous question mark next to it. Mr Wynter crumpled thepiece of paper and put it in his pocket. Elsewhere looked clean enough. He hadn’t expected a distinct paper trail, but it paid to be sure.
    He made a call on his cell. ‘Hello,’ he said. I’d like to book your next available flight from Washington to Nassau please… Yes, Nassau in the Bahamas… Why yes,’ he laughed. ‘I am a very lucky man, but if you can’t enjoy yourself at my age, what’s the point?’
    Rex had a night to kill before his plane. The time passed slowly. Not only because he was impatient to leave, but also because he was having to spend the time with Ted Loomis, and the man was reluctant to let Rex get off lightly with the day’s events.
    ‘“Just observe”,’ he said as they sat in their hotel bar. ‘That should be the main thing they teach people in training.’
    ‘Yeah, right,’ said Rex sipping at his beer and not really listening. ‘Observe.’
    ‘People always want to jump in,’ Ted continued, ‘make a name for themselves, be the hero.’
    ‘They do.’
    ‘Not me, I’m happy in my work, a cog in the big machine.’
    ‘Good,’ Rex replied. ‘Glad you’re happy.’
    ‘Not just happy,’ said Ted, raising his voice, ‘but proud. What we do is important, it keeps people safe!’
    ‘And is often top secret and shouldn’t be shouted about in bars,’ said Rex.
    Ted, realising he was being indiscreet, droppedhis volume. ‘Yeah, cos you’re Mr Frigging Discreet aren’t you? In the van for a couple of minutes, and an operation I have given hours to is flushed down the pan because you couldn’t sit still.’
    Rex placed his beer carefully on the surface of the bar. He felt it was for the best – if the bottle stayed in his hand he might be tempted to break it on Ted’s face, and that wouldn’t be good. ‘Your case was flushed down the pan because you chose a flaky pervert as a potential asset.’
    ‘Oh grow up and read your history books,’ said Ted. ‘The CIA doesn’t care what people like Dmitri get up to in their spare time. Fact is, if the guy has unusual tastes then all to the better. Something to hold over him.’
    ‘So if you had been in my shoes, you would have been punching the air?’
    ‘Certainly not the asset.’
    Rex got to his feet.
    ‘Where the hell are you going?’ asked