The Torchwood SUV raced through the late afternoon rain ahead of a long line of police cars.  At Andy’s suggestion, they had snatched up a handful of Torchwood spare phones and rushed them to police headquarters. Giving police a free rein of the Torchwood network was driving Jack barmy, but Andy pointed out that it would reduce the possibility of a cockup in the operation if all involved could talk to each other.

            Ianto got a charge out of watching Andy manage Jack.  His stolid acceptance of everything Torchwood threw at him extended to Jack’s temperament, and he blocked every attempt at argument with a calm, common-sensical attitude that could reduce the good Captain to muttered grumblings about the Welsh. I’ve got to ask Jack how he got Gwen to agree to hire him.

            As the caravan neared the access road to Davies’s house, they heard the thumping whine of a helicopter taking off. Jack snarled as it flew over their heads.

            “Shall I get a chase on, then?” asked Andy.

            “Don’t bother,” said Jack. “That fucker’s a LynxZB500, the fastest thing with a rotor in the British Isles. They’ll go dark as soon as they clear the city.  Police cars won’t be able to keep up, not in this rain.”

            He sent the SUV careening down the access road at a speed that earned a good God almighty, Harkness! from Andy. As they reached the courtyard, Jack slewed it to block access. He tapped his earbud.

            “From here on, we go on foot. Get some people sweeping the fields and woods.” He looked hard at both Ianto and Andy. “Be careful, every one. We don’t know what kind of surprises they might have left behind.”

            Ianto checked his gun. Strangely, the whole thing felt familiar, and not exactly unwelcome. This is part of my life as well.

            He took his usual place behind and to the left of Jack. Andy fell in to the right, as if they had been doing this all along. The three of them moved into the courtyard, crouching against the buildings, sweeping roofs and doorways for snipers.  Behind them, policemen poured in, following the same pattern.

            The courtyard was lit by the single bulb of a carriage lamp by the front door. Three men in uniform lay in a heap to one side. Long dark streaks on the gravel showed where they had been killed then dragged to be stacked like cordwood. The sight  made Andy hiss curses under his breath.

            “Door!” Jack barked at Andy and Ianto. They followed him up the steps.  Jack pushed gently on the latch --Ianto wondered if some of the policemen were disappointed by the show of restraint --  and, when the door began to open, tossed in something and closed the door again. The reason for his caution became apparent in a few seconds, when the whole house blazed with an incandescent glow that made everyone’s eyes water.

            Jack pushed the door open again and the three of them walked in, still on the alert. There were five more bodies in the entryway.  This had been hand-to-hand combat, and the Cardiff police had given a good account of themselves. Three of the bodies wore dull black military-style clothing, complete with balaclavas. The only spot of color was a small patch over the left breast, showing crossed arrows crowned with a Pharaoh’s crown.

 Jack pulled the balaclava off one of them. It was a gray-haired man, very fit but starting to soften around the edges. Even in death he had a nasty twist to his mouth. Jack made a growling noise in the back of his throat.

“Jack?” Ianto asked softly.

“I know him from somewhere. Can’t place him.”

Ianto noticed that the policemen were just waiting for Jack to make the next move. He gave a small jerk of the head towards them. “It’ll come back to you faster if you don’t push it.”

            Jack nodded. “Everyone. Search the house. In pairs, no heroics, ok? If you see anything that qualifies as even the smallest bit strange, give a shout. You and you” he pointed to two young constables “come with us.”

            He set out down the corridor to the office. The door has been blown off its hinges. Three more of the military types lay just beyond. Each one of them had been taken out by a single gunshot to the head. Beyond them lay Beckwith, gun still in hand.

            “Fantastic shooting,” said Jack.

            One of the constables gave a weak chuckle. “Departmental champion six years running. We used to take the piss” his faced crumpled “because who’d ever be in a gunfight in Cardiff!”  Andy patted his shoulder and motioned them both out of the room.

            Jack prowled beyond Beckwith’s body. Ianto followed, knowing what Jack was looking for: Alexander Davies. They found him crumpled in a fetal position halfway under his desk. The left side of his head was covered in blood.

            “Damn it,” Jack whispered.

            Amazingly, Davies’s eyes fluttered open. “Harkness?”

            Ianto tapped his earbud. “Get an ambulance and some paramedics in here! We have a survivor!”

            “Don’t… bother.” Blood seeped out of Davies’s mouth with each word. “I just… needed to hold on… I knew you were… coming back. Had to… tell you… the woman… took the Eye… warehouse…she said bring … girl…bring the last girl… to the warehouse.”

            His head lolled to one side.  Jack checked the pulse point at his neck. ‘Damn.”

            “Warehouse?” Ianto asked.

“There are places along the river gentrification hasn’t reached yet,” Andy said. “Even weevils avoid them. You could hide there for a long time.”

“What would they need them for?” Ianto mused. “People who can afford Lynxes can afford a better class of hideout. Unless… they’re here for the same reason Torchwood is.”

            “The Rift,” Jack said.

            “The thing I felt… what it did took a lot of energy.  I was starving when I woke up, as if I hadn’t eaten for weeks.” Ianto smiled softly at a memory. “Tosh! Right before Tosh died she was working on a program that was supposed to pinpoint spikes in Rift energy and track fluctuations within each spike.”

            “John’s been working on it,” Andy said. “He calls it the Pretty Girl Genius’s Bloody Headache. But he gets results of a sort.”

            Jack pulled something out of his pocket.

            “A cell phone?” Andy looked gobsmacked. “You’re going to bloody call John on a cell phone?”

            “Actually, it’s a nifty piece of technology Ianto and I stole from UNIT once upon a time. It creates an invisible network within a network. If your code’s in here, you can hear the conversation. If you’re not, you’re deaf. You’re on police monitor duty, Andy.” Jack pressed a few buttons. “John?”

            “Yeah.”

            “Put me on the speaker. I need Isabella to hear this.” He waited for the tell-tale click, then continued. “Davies told us that these bastards might be using a warehouse as a base of operations. It’s likely they need Rift energy somehow. Can you use Tosh’s program to pinpoint any Rift spikes in or near warehouse areas?”

            “Now, see, that’s why I’m the only one of your ex-wives that you still love.” Ianto raised an eyebrow at John’s sally, while Andy rolled his eyes. “Already done. Validium and Rift energy, a match made in heaven. There are three locations that show spikes, but only one that shows a pattern.” He recited an address. “Once a week for the past three weeks. Sharp energy spike, then four smaller ones, then gone as if someone had swallowed it whole.”

            “We’ll need to get there tonight.  Get everyone except Martha and we’ll meet you there. Is Isabella listening?”

            “Yes, Jack, I am.”

            “Would you know of any reason…”

            “Jack,” she interrupted. “Is Alex ok?”

            Jack swallowed hard before answering. “No. I’m sorry Isabella. He lived long enough to give us the information.”

            “We brought this on him, my family and I, dear God…”

            “Isabella!” Jack snapped. “I’m sorry for your loss, but we don’t have time! Davies said they mentioned taking the last girl somewhere.  Do you have any idea why they would need a girl?”

            “No, I… Oh God, oh God.” Jack heard John say sit down, sit down in the background, then Isabella spoke again. “The Awakening of Neith.”

            “The what?”

            “When the Eye began to go dormant, one of my ancestors, who was buried in an unmarked grave with no name and will not be remembered in our prayers, created a ceremony to reinvigorate it. It involved the sacrifice of young girls, preferably virgins.” She gave a bitter laugh. “The ultimate horror movie cliché.”

            “Things just keep getting better, don’t they? John, we need to get to the warehouse as soon as possible.”

            “I’m going along,” Isabella said.

            “No.”

            “Jack, you don’t have a choice. There is a counter-ritual to the Awakening, but it can only be performed by a priest of Neith, and I’m the only one you have available at the moment.” Taking advantage of Jack’s silence, she pressed on. “I can take care of myself. Ask Ianto.”

            Jack looked at Ianto, who nodded. “All right…”

            "Jack” Andy said urgently, pointing at his earpiece. "They’re saying they found the housekeeper alive. She’s in the kitchen.”

            Jack and Ianto sprinted across the house, Jack belting out orders to John as he went. They burst into the kitchen to find Mrs. Bolton sitting at the work table, holding a cup of tea, and looking her usual feisty self in spite of her disheveled appearance.

            “Mrs. Bolton!” Jack swept her up into his arms impulsively.  “Are you all right?”

            She patted his shoulder as if he were a boy. “Of course I am, Captain Harkness.”

            “Forgive me the question,” Ianto said.  “But why are you all right? They…”

            “Killed everyone else? Yes, I know, Mr. Jones, I saw them do it. The men were going to shoot me too but she came in and told them to lock me in the pantry.” She sighed. “I suppose she couldn’t bring herself to kill an old friend.”

            Everyone stared at her dumbfounded. “You know this woman, Mrs. Bolton?”

            “I should say so, sir. My mam was in service with her parents for many years. We grew up together, playing hide and seek and swimming in the ornamental pools in their garden.”

            “Who is she, Mrs. Bolton?”

            “Lucy, sir. Miss Lucy Cole she was, of course that was before she married the Prime Minister. Mrs. Harold Saxon."