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

Ted.
    Rex leaned in close and whispered in his ear. ‘Somewhere I won’t end up beating someone to death.’
    He walked out of the bar, loud calypso music leaking from pretty much everywhere he walked past as he tried to calm down. Eventually his breathing slowed and his fists unclenched. It’s hard to be furious when people keep banging on steel drums; even if you hate that sort of thing, it’s the aural equivalent of a Tom and Jerry cartoon and not built for raging through.
    He took an outside table at one of the small restaurants and ordered some cracked conch. Ifhe had to spend another night here, his arteries might as well suffer along with the rest of him.
    While he ate the deep-fried shell fish, he thought about Shaeffer’s phone call. The man had claimed they were in possession of experimental technology. Experimental? The Brits? What had they ever invented except sarcastic sitcoms and bowler hats? More likely it was stolen from another power and sold on to bolster the coffers. After all, you only had to pick up a newspaper to know that the British government had convinced everyone it was desperate for cash. They sounded just like the Republicans, anything to cut public healthcare down to a sticking plaster and a pat on the back. Rex was far from convinced that his presence would be wanted – or needed – but he’d play it carefully, observe from a distance (and wouldn’t that please Loomis?) to ensure he wasn’t about to get in the way of a sanctioned extraction. If anyone complained – and didn’t they always? – he’d blame it on Esther and play nice with the Section Chiefs for a while before they sent him back here. Whether he was needed or not, it would make a welcome palate cleanser from narcotics, you could only work these cases for so long before you felt so damn dirty you needed to take some holiday allowance to shower for a few days.
    He returned to his hotel, noticing Ted was still sat on his own in the bar. For a moment, he thought about going over to join him, maybe build a few bridges. Then he was honest with himself about how long it would be before they started a brawl and headed straight to bed.
    In the morning, he left the hotel early, skipping breakfast – and therefore any risk of bumping into Ted – and got a cab straight to the airport.
    At the check-in desk he took his boarding pass – Business Class, go Esther – and went to wait for his flight.
    Mr Wynter tipped back his seat and allowed himself to doze. It was an indulgence, like syrup on oatmeal or a stolen cookie. Better to sleep now than when he arrived. Once in Cuba he would be a busy man.
    He had flown from Washington to Nassau then from there to Havana, still the preferred method of circumnavigating US Customs when travelling to Cuba. It was laughable that he of all people was sneaking past the ‘powers that be’, but he liked to keep a low profile. Besides, it meant he could get a look at Mr Matheson.
    Mr Wynter opened his eyes and squinted along the gangway at the man several rows in front of him. He watched as Matheson checked his watch, leaned forward, looked out of the window, picked up the inflight magazine, dumped it back in the seat pouch in front of him and checked the time once more. All of this in the space of a few minutes. Rex Matheson is not a man who likes to sit still, thought Mr Wynter. He is a man that wants the world to move at the same speed as himself. Mr Wynter smiled. We’re all young once.
    Mr Wynter had no problem waiting. There’d been a time when he might have thought he could push this plane faster by will alone, but no more.Now he was happy to control what he could – which was considerable – and let the rest get by at its own speed.
    ‘There’ll be action soon, Mr Matheson,’ he mumbled, slipping contentedly into sleep. ‘Have no fear.’
    A couple of hours later, Rex walked out of José Martí International and over to one of the small hire car offices adjoining the car