The Conspiracy, Script VO

JACK: The twenty-first century’s when it all changes. And you’ve got to be ready.

**

MAN: People often ask me, they say, ‘George, how come you know all this? Who gave you this information?’ And you know what I tell them, I say, ‘The information is there. It is right there, you only have to open your eyes.’ You see, people think that our eyes are open to the world around them, but they’re not. The world we see is the world they want us to see. And it is a fiction!

MAN/GEORGE: No more real than a fairiy tale! Or a dream!

JACK, NARRATING: (chuckles) Conspiracy nuts. Don’t you just love them. Of course, being a conspiracy theorist is like any other line of work. You have your enthusiastic amateurs, blogging and blogging away into the small hours, and then, there are the professionals, the superstars. George Wilson was one of the pros. But, let’s rewind the clock a little. Let’s go back to a time when George made a living by reading the evening news.

 News-flash ntro music.

GEORGE: Good evening. America has declared that the air war against Iraq will continue for quite some time. Speaking at the White House earlier today, the U.S. president told reporters… I’m sorry, I can’t read this… This is all bullsh- (Bip). Look I’m saying this as if the man has any say in the matter! Does anyone really think it’s the president, or the, prime minister, who’s running the show, huh? Of course not! It’s the oil companies, and the multinationals, the politicians of this world, are just marionettes. And we are sending young men over to foreign countries where they fight and die to preserve business interests, and it’s insane. And I can’t… I can’t carry on being a spokesperson for this… Oh f- (Bip) this. I’m done.

JACK, NARRATING: It didn’t take long for him to resurface.

Again, in the Hall.

GEORGE: The world we see is the world they want us to see. And it is a fiction! No more real than a fairy tale! Or a dream! The Committee. That’s what they like to call themselves. The Committee are experts at going incognito, undercover. They look just like you or me. They are not little green men, and they didn’t come here in flying saucers. Make no mistake about it, they are here. And they control everything. Where did they come from, you ask? They come from the planet Erebus.

JACK, NARRATING: (turns off the recording) Whoa whoa whoa whoa, yeah. Let’s stop right there. You see, sometimes, even the craziest people in the world won’t just say something interesting. They’ll tell the truth.

 Torchwood theme.

A recording of a man speaking, which fades into a live sound.

INTERVIEWER: Now, George, you’ve made a number of statements recently in the press, and have caused quite a few people, myself included, to worry about you.

GEORGE: Worry? Why are you worried about me?

INTERVIEWER: Well, much of what you said has been a little, uh, shall we say, eccentric.

GEORGE: Listen, if people can’t handle the truth of what is around us, that’s their problem, not mine. No one should worry about me. It’s themselves they should worry about. And the world. We are choking this planet with pollution and committing violence upon one another, and the planet is unhappy. You see, the powers that be want us to think we are all separate, self-serving entities, and that’s where most of the world’s problems stem from. If people saw the truth, they would realize that we are all one, interconnected!

INTERVIEWER: And this relates to your belief in reincarnation?

GEORGE: Reincarnation is a part of it, yes. You see, it was only through meditation that I realized this is not the first life cycle that I have been enjoyed. This person, this George Wilson that you see before you, is simply the latest manifestation of a single branch of the united – human – consciousness.

 Torchwood music.

JACK, NARRATING: I’d been onto him for some time. We keep an eye on most of these characters. So when they announced that George Wilson’s roadshow was comin’ to Cardiff, I decided to act. Of course, if Wilson knew Torchwood was in the house, he’d have security show me the door. And it really isn’t good to cause a scene so early on. That’s where Plexus Magazine came in handy. You may have heard of it. A million subscribers worldwide. The usual mix of conspiracies, cryptozoology, and unsolved mysteries. Mayan calendars, the Chupacabra, whatever happened to Jimmy Hoffa. You get the idea. Established in Patchogue, New York, in 1975, the golden age of paranoia. And funded entirely by an anonymous benefactor, i.e., Torchwood. Soon enough, I was the proud owner of a press pass and a complimentary ticket to the George Wilson experience. Of course, the only problem in a situation like that – You can’t pick the person you’re sitting next to.

At the “George Wilson experience”. A young man begins talking.

MAN: Do I, do I know you?

JACK: I’m sorry?

MAN: You are really familiar. Are you on TV?

JACK:  No.

MAN: Oh, I could swear, I know you from somewhere. Oh, I’m Sam, by the way. Sam Halelt. I write a blog, the Eye of Providence. You may have heard of it. I’ve got a YouTube channel.

JACK: Sorry, can’t say I have.

JACK, NARRATING: I was lying. Like I say, we keep tabs on these people.

SAM, NOW: …Oh. I see. And what it is you do?

JACK: I work for Plexus Magazine.

SAM: Wow, r…really? Oh, you must know my mate, Zack, he makes videos for –

JACK: I think it’s starting.

SAM: Oh right. Yeah.

JACK: Shh.

 **

WOMAN/KATE: Ladies and gentleman, prepare to open your eyes and expand your minds in the presence of the one, the only, George Wilson!

 Applause.

JACK, NARRATING: He sold the place out. Three nights in a row, seven thousand seats, and not one of them empty.

GEORGE, NOW: Thank you, Cardiff! Diolch am alw ! Thank you. Wow! It really is great to be here. You know, outside this room, there are some very cynical people. You’ve no doubt met them. They’re you friends, your colleagues, members of your family, and they’ll tell you you’re crazy for coming here today. They’ll say, ‘Why do you want to listen to George Wilson? That man’s a crackpot! He’s a loony!’ It took a lot of guts for you to come here. For you to stand up and say, ‘I will no longer follow the herd. I will no longer be a compliant drone to the Committee.’ So give yourselves a round of applause!

 Applause.

GEORGE: Because that’s what those other people are. They are drones. You see, there are three types of person on this planet. Right at the top, running everything, there’s the Committee. Then there are the enablers. The people who know what the Committee are up to, but help them achieve their goals out of personal greed. And then there are the drones. The ones who are clueless and blind. Now, if this is your first time hearing me speak, and you haven’t read any of my books, perhaps you’re wondering ‘What exactly is the Committee?’ Well. To put it simply, they’re the puppet masters. They’re the ones running the show; they’ve been here throughout human history. Every war, every famine, every genocide, they have orchestrated. They look like you or me. In fact, every time you turn on the TV, or open a newspaper, they are staring you in the face. But they are most definitely not human.

 Exclamations of praise from a crowd – End of Wilson’s speech.

GEORGE: Hey, hey. One at a time, one at a time! Yes. Who should I make this out to? Is that with or without an ‘e’? Without. To…

 Footsteps.

JACK: Hi, Kate? Kate Wilson?

KATE: Yes?

JACK: I’m Jack Harkness. Plexus Magazine. I emailed you about the press pass?

KATE: Oh, hi! Yes, of course! Jack, hi.

JACK: I was wondering if maybe I could interview your father?

KATE: Wha…Today?

JACK : Well, yeah.

KATE: Gosh, um, he’s a bit busy right now. And we’ve got an American telly thing this evening. Did I say you could have an interview?

JACK: We didn’t confirm anything.

KATE: Oh, right. Okay, right. Well –

JACK, NARRATING: I gave her my best puppy-dog eyes.

KATE, NOW: Listen, we’ll sort something out. I mean, Plexus Magazine, right? I’m sure we can squeeze you in.

JACK: If you could, that would be great. I just, my editor said it would help the feature I’m writing. And I flew over here from the states. I just thought…

KATE: You flew over from America, just to hear Dad speak?

JACK: I did.

KATE: Wow. In that case, listen. Here’s my card, call me in the morning, and we’ll arrange something then. Is that cool?

JACK: Perfect. Thank you.

 Jack leaves 

JACK, NARRATING: I was on my way back to the car when I realized I was being followed. Not by one of Wilson’s entourage, but by the kid, who’d sat next to me during the show. Sam. Probably thought he was being subtle, but I knew he was there. The moment he’d started talking to me, I’d seen it in his eyes – the recognition. But how could he know me? And why was he following me? I was seconds away from going over and asking him, when…

JACK, NOW: Gwen? Weevils? How many? … And that’s just the lingerie department? Okay, I’ll be right there.

JACK, NARRATING: The kid, whoever he was, would have to wait.

 Torchwood theme.

JACK, NARRATING: The next day, I paid a visit to George Wilson at his hotel. His daughter met me in the lobby and showed me to their suite.

KATE, NOW: So, Mr. Harkness…

JACK: Jack. Please.

KATE: Right. Yes. Jack. How long have you been writing for Plexus?

JACK: Only a few months. This is my first big feature for them.

KATE: Great! You Americans love this sort of thing, don’t you. Dad and I were there a year or so back for a college lecture tour, and the kids he spoke to just lapped it up. How about you? Do you believe in all that stuff?

JACK: You say that as if you don’t.

KATE: Well. Look, he’s my dad, and I love him, but – seriously? Some of the stuff he says.

 Jack starts to say something.

KATE: Please. Don’t quote me on that, by the way.

JACK, NARRATING: I didn’t need to. She was already a YouTube star herself.

 He turns on a recording.

KATE, IN THE VIDEO: Oh it’s all bollocks! Space aliens, and and – I mean, who believes all that shit?

JACK, NOW: (laughs) I won’t say a word. I, I promise.

KATE: (relieved) Thanks. But yeah, over in the states, the students loved him. I mean, of course, part of that’s to do with the English accent, I think. Now, you can ask him pretty much anything. Anything at all. The only two subjects I like people to avoid – his drinking, and his and Mum’s divorce. Dad’s a recovering alcoholic. Every day is a challenge, especially when we’re on tour. Reminding him of that fact just makes the journey so much harder.

JACK: I understand.

KATE: And, as for Mum… Well, if you get him talking about her, you’ll never hear the end of it. This is us!

KATE: Dad?

GEORGE: Oh, hi, love!

KATE: I’d like you to meet Jack Harkness. The guy I was telling you about? He writes for Plexus Magazine.

GEORGE: Marvelous. Hello, Mr. Harkness, pleasure to meet you.

JACK: Likewise.

GEORGE: Come on in and sit yourself down. Drink?

JACK: Oh ah, I’m, I’m fine, thank you.

GEORGE: Sensible man. The coffee tastes instant, and the tea tastes like piss.

KATE: Dad, I said I’d give Jerry a ring about Haight so I’ll just leave the two of you to get started, yeah?

GEORGE: Of course. You still going back this evening?

KATE: Possibly, I’ll find out.

GEORGE: Oh, and tell him I haven’t forgotten about our game of squash on Tuesday.

KATE: Will do!

 Kate opens the door and leaves.

GEORGE: So. Plexus Magazine, you say.

JACK: That’s right.

GEORGE: Interesting. I’ve read a few issues over the years. Some fascinating stuff in there, but you don’t half print a load of rubbish sometimes. All that stuff about chemtrails, pull the other one. But, generally, I must say… I’m impressed.

JACK: Thanks !

GEORGE: No, seriously. If I wasn’t, you wouldn’t be here. We get all sorts asking for interviews.

JACK: (laughs) I can imagine.

GEORGE: That fellow from the BBC, what’s his name, the one with the glasses, wanting to do an hour-long feature on me a few years back. I told him where he could stick his hour-long feature. I’ve seen a few of the one’s he’s done before, and they’re all hatchet jobs, made to make the subjects look like idiots. I told him – well, I told his producer – but I said, if you think I’m willing to look like a complete prat, on national television, you’ve got another thing coming. Christ, if I wanted to do that, I could go on “I’m a Celebrity”. At least then you get a holiday in Australia to show for it, and I’ve heard the money’s not too bad. I’m sorry, am I racing ahead here?

JACK: No no, not at all. I just – have to make sure this thing is working. Okay, testing, testing… That’s fine.

JACK, NARRATING: He thought it was a Dictaphone. But it was actually scanning the room for evidence of extraterrestrial life. It was clean.

GEORGE, NOW: Great. Well. Fire away.

JACK: Okay. Well, maybe we could start by talking about… the Committee.

GEORGE: Blimey, you don’t beat around the bush.

JACK: I thought we could dispense with the small talk.

GEORGE: Mm, I like it. Direct, no faffing about.

JACK: How did you learn their name?

GEORGE: It was um, told to me in the strictest confidence, by one of their contacts. An enabler in the CIA, that’s the Central Intelligence Agency…

JACK: I know what it stands for. This CIA contact of yours, do they have a name?

GEORGE: If I was to tell you their name, it wouldn’t be in the strictest confidence, now, would it? Besides, I have friends and acquaintances from more than one intelligence agency, and several of them are aware of the Committee. And what they’re doing here.

 A very dramatic radio voice announcing...

MAN: The Eye of Providence!

SAM (via his blog): Okay, so earlier on, I went to see George Wilson, yeah? Now, I don’t know how much you guys know about it. But he is – the dude. He’s like, the high priest of truth telling. That man has got his finger on the pulse as far as I’m concerned. It was a great honor seeing him in the flesh. B-but, while I’m sittin’ there, right, I’ve got this guy next to me. And I’m thinkin’ «  hey, I know this guy ». Real déjà vu-type stuff, yeah?

 Back to the Interview.

JACK: In your book, The Great Conspiracy, you said the Committee’s been interfering with human affairs for hundreds, maybe even thousands of years.

GEORGE: That is true, yes.

JACK: Well, why are they called ‘the Committee’? Why not, I don’t know, the, « the Erebusians »?

GEORGE: I didn’t pick the name, Mr. Harkness. That’s just what they’re called. Obviously they have their own language, but the name they call themselves translates into English as just that. The Committee.

JACK: Sounds bureaucratic.

GEORGE: Oh, and they are. Business-like. Ruthless. It’s what Hannah Arendt said of Eichmann, ‘the banality of evil’. Though of course the Nazis themselves were just stooges of the Committee, as were the Allied Forces. The whole war was a fabrication.

JACK: A fabrication? I’m, I’m sorry?

GEORGE: Oh, don’t get me wrong. The war happened, people died. But the narrative of the war, the causes of the war were a work of fiction. Another phase in the Committee’s long-term project to wipe out mankind.

JACK: Right. But that didn’t happen.

GEORGE: What do you mean?

JACK: The world’s population has doubled in the last fifty years alone. If their aim was to, to wipe us out, they’ve done a pretty bad job of it.

GEORGE: And perhaps allowing the population to reach such ridiculous proportions was all part of the plan. Besides, the technology to obliterate every last soul on the planet didn’t exist before 1945. The war, as I’ve said, was phase one. And by the end of it, we have the atomic bomb.

 Sam’s recording.

SAM: So, when the whole thing’s finished, I followed this guy out of the arena, right, and I managed to get a few pictures of him. Oh, if any of you follow me on Instagram, you can see ‘em there. Oh, I used Valencia, because that filter is sick! (laughs) But anyway, this is the guy I’m talking about. So, if any of you, especially anyone in Cardiff, like Boussa59 or PikachuTheBarbarian, if you guys recognize him, message me, yeah?

Back to the Interview.

JACK: So, if that was phase one, where would you say we are now?

GEORGE: I believe we’re at the beginning of phase two : terrorism, economic collapse, overpopulation, food shortages, global pandemics. It makes for a heady cocktail, I think you’ll agree.

JACK: And phase three?

GEORGE: After all that, I don’t think there’ll be any need for a third phase, do you?

JACK: Okay. If we could just go back to your time as a journalist.

GEORGE: If we must.

JACK: You found yourself in some crazy situations; saw some pretty terrible things, traumatic things. It would be perfectly understandable if someone suffered psychologically after witnessing some of the things you’ve seen.

GEORGE: Where is this, hum, heading, Mr. Harkness?

JACK:  I suppose I’m trying to establish your frame of mind. Around the time you, you quit journalism, began talking about conspiracies, the Committee.

 The door opens.

KATE: Hello, again. We’ve got a green light on Haight, which is amazeballs, by the way. And, Jerry says hi. I said I’d drive down there tonight, sort some things out with him, hash out the contracts, then come back first thing tomorrow before we leave for Manchester, which also means I can pick up the suits from the dry cleaners. How are you two getting along?

GEORGE: Fine, Mr. Harkness here was just asking about my time as a journalist.

KATE: Was he? Bit awkward. I thought we said you’d avoid all that stuff.

JACK: We agreed his marriage to your mother and his drinking were off-limits. You didn’t mention anything about his career.

KATE: Well, it is. That was a difficult time for him. Wasn’t it, Dad.

GEORGE: No, let’s talk about it. Let’s have it out. I have nothing to hide. Yes, Mr. Harkness, the things I saw were upsetting. Yes, I drank. Yes, it destroyed my marriage, but let me just say this. Like many recovering addicts will tell you, coming out of an experience like that brings your world into a much sharper focus. You see things as they really are. It’s what William Burroughs meant when he called his book The Naked Lunch. It’s the moment when everyone sees what is on the end of their fork.

JACK: And what did you see?

GEORGE: I saw shadows, moving behind the set dressing of the world.

JACK: I was no closer to understanding George Wilson, but he wasn’t crazy. A little deluded, perhaps, but not quite crazy. Huh, wish I could say the same for Sam.

 The sound of running footsteps, outside.

SAM: Hey! It’s you again!

JACK: Oh, hi, uh, Sam, isn’t it?

SAM: That’s right! So, what are you doing here? Were you visiting George Wilson?

JACK: I was interviewing him.

SAM: They, they gave you an interview?

JACK: Yes.

SAM: What the…  ! I emailed his PA like, about, a hundred times and they didn’t give me an interview.

JACK: Maybe because you emailed them a hundred times.

SAM: Man, that sucks. I can’t believe they gave you an interview and not me. Except… you weren’t really interviewing him, were you?

JACK: (laughs) I’m sorry?

SAM: Ha! I knew it. Here. This is a picture I took outside the Brampton Hotel on Cathedral Road, June, last year. When they had that poltergeist. See? And that, unless I’m very much mistaken, is you.

JACK: Well, it looks like me, I’ll give you that.

SAM: (giggly) Ohh yeah, because there are loads of men who look like you, walkin’ around Cardiff in army surplus greatcoats. Besides, here’s another picture a friend of mine took in Penarth, during the mermaid sightings in November. And-a boom, there you are again.

JACK: And-a boom, so you got a few pictures of me, doesn’t prove a thing. Except perhaps that you’re stalkin’ me. Are you stalking me, Sam?

SAM: As if! Though, actually, who’s the brunette?

JACK: A friend.

SAM: Because she is fit as!

JACK: I’ll pass on your compliment. I’m sure she’ll be thrilled.

SAM: But, there’s only one explanation for why you’d be in all these places.

JACK: Which is?

SAM: Torchwood.

JACK: Torchwood?

SAM: (giggly again) Seriously? You drive around Cardiff in a black four-wheel drive with flashing blue lights. Ha, I mean, us bloggers might not know what it is you do, but Torchwood, you are up there with MK Ultra and the Bilderberg group, man.

JACK: Wow, I feel honored.

SAM: Oh, you should. Those guys are like, world-famous.

JACK: Okay, well, if we’re done…

SAM: Oh my god, it’s the four-wheel drive, it’s the actual four-wheel drive!

JACK: Ah, we actually call it the SUV; you can put that in your blog. Actually, scratch that. If you put this, any of this, in your blog, I’ll have you transported to a Siberian zinc mine by lunchtime tomorrow.

SAM: Heyhey, classic.

JACK: Do I look like I’m joking?

SAM: You mean, you’d actually do that?

JACK: Try me.

 Jack gets in the car and drives away.

JACK, NARRATING: I was lying, of course. I don’t even know if they have zinc mines in Siberia. But Sam didn’t know that.

 Scene change.

JACK: Hello! Anybody home? … Just me, then. Good.

JACK, NARRATING: I spent most of that night watching the same video clips over and over.

GEORGE, ON A RECORDING: The Committee aren’t after our oil. Their civilization hasn’t relied on fossil fuels in over half a million years. (live sound again) They want our helium 3. On Earth, it’s rare, but the Moon is drenched in the stuff. Right now, we are like the Arabian Bedouin of old, traversing oil fields without knowing it. The Committee knows it’s only matter of time before they’re able to go up there and claim what’s ours, and they’ll do everything they can to stop us. The people know this. But in the early 80s, NASA began drawing up plans for a second wave of Apollo missions. That is, until a certain shuttle disaster put the whole space program on hold. Ten years later, they began talking about the mission again. And wouldn’t you know it, another shuttle exploded. Coincidence? I think not. You have to ask yourself: Why did the Russians never go there? Indeed, why is it almost forty years now since anyone last set foot on the Moon? Now, the Enablers. These are the ones working in intelligence agencies, in law enforcement. When you see people being teargassed or hit with batons at anti-government rallies, the ones hitting them, the ones teargassing them, they’re the Enablers.

JACK, NARRATING: Sometimes, he would get something right.

GEORGE: Erebus exists on a dimensional plane that’s invisible to Earth.

JACK, NARRATING: And sometimes, he’d get it very wrong.

GEORGE: And of course, we know what happened the last time an American president discovered the truth about the Committee, don’t we?

JACK, NARRATING: Like all good conspiracy theories, some parts were strangely persuasive.

GEORGE: Doesn’t it often feel to you as if this world is being run by a cabal of middle managers? That human progress is being slowed down by the jobsworths, by the pencil-pushers.

JACK, NARRATING: Some parts, not so much.

GEORGE: This is Paul McCartney in 1967, and this is him – or someone claiming to be him – in 1970.  And I think you’ll agree that is not the same person.

JACK, NARRATING: I listened back over our interview.

JACK, ON A RECORDING: You say your contacts wish to remain anonymous because they fear for their lives. Yet, you talk about this stuff. In your show, in your books, online, in the films you make, and you haven’t been killed.

GEORGE: Not yet, no.

JACK: But you think the Committee might one day have you assassinated.

GEORGE: It’s a very real possibility.

KATE: Dad, do we really have to talk about this? It freaks me out.

GEORGE: Well it’s true, love. I’m sure they’re only biding their time. Right now, if they were to kill me, they would only make me a martyr. They don’t yet exert absolute control over the media. I mean, the mainstream media, yes, they control that from top to bottom. But just you mark my words, the day when they dictate every last thing the people see, read, and hear about, will be the day a sniper trains his sights on yours truly.

JACK: Wow. You sound quite calm about it.

GEORGE: If it happens, it happens. We all have to die someday.

JACK, NARRATING: I was just about to call it a night, when…

 Cell phone rings.

JACK: Hello?

MAN: (In panic) Jack. Jack Harkness.

JACK: Who is this?

SAM: It’s Sam, Sam Hallet.

JACK: Oh.

SAM: These people came to my flat. I don’t know who they are. I was sleeping, and they, they broke in. They said, they wanna speak to you, Jack.

JACK: Well, put them on.

SAM: I can’t. They said you have to come here.

JACK: Then where are you?

SAM: In the Bay. At the new tower block they’re building, the Skypoint. They want you to come here. I…

JACK: It’s ok, Sam. I’m on my way.

JACK, NARRATING: Skypoint was gonna be the tallest building in the city. But back then, it was only half-built. A spire of girders and concrete reaching several hundred feet into the night sky. Once I cleared the gate, it took me a while to find him. How they got him up there? I’ll never know. But he was standing on a narrow ledge, maybe sixty, seventy feet off the ground, a rope around his neck, and his hands tied behind his back.

JACK: Sam! Where are they?

SAM: (very distressed) I can’t see them! But I think they’re still here!

JACK: I’m gonna come up there and get you down, okay?

SAM: No! No, don’t do that. They said, if you try and help me, they’ll kill us both!

JACK: Dammit. Why don’t you show your faces, whoever the hell you are?

SAM: They told me to give you a message, they said you… (cut off and choking sound)

JACK: No!

JACK, NARRATING: I don’t know if he was pushed, or if he fell. But within seconds, I could hear the sound of sirens. I got their message, loud and clear. But if they thought they were gonna stop me, well, they were very much mistaken. What I didn’t know at the time, was that half an hour before Sam’s death, a video had appeared online. His last testament.

SAM, ON VIDEO: (crying) My name is Sam Hallet. If you’re watching this, it means that I’m – dead. I’ve taken my own life because it is no longer worth living. For years, I’ve wasted my time to spread nothing but fantasies and lies. I did this because I wanted the attention. But I’m still alone, and the loneliness has become too much to bear. I, I hope my family will forgive me. I am so, so sorry.

JACK, NARRATING: No one would have found it convincing. And of course, when I told him not to say a word about Torchwood, I was way too late. He’d already done it. And about half a dozen emails and text messages and blogs. When I got back to the Hub, so many phone lines, so much voicemails, so many messages, the agencies and ministries you’re not supposed to know about, all those anonymous men and women in Whitehall who don’t appreciate being woken up with bad news in the early hours of the morning. I let them go unanswered. I had some questions of my own.

In George's room

JACK, NOW: Wake up. I said « wake up ! ».

GEORGE: What? Jesus Christ.

JACK: Close, but no cigar.

GEORGE: Harkness? What the hell are you doing here?

JACK: I wouldn’t make any sudden moves.

GEORGE: But why?

JACK: Do you know someone named Sam Hallet?

GEORGE: Who?

JACK: (very angry) Don’t play games with me!

GEORGE: Swear to God, I don’t know who you’re talking about.

JACK: He writes a blog, Eye of Providence. He came to hear you speak yesterday, said he tried getting an interview with you.

GEORGE: Honest. I’ve never heard of him.

JACK: Well he’d heard of you. And now he’s dead.

GEORGE: What?

JACK: Hanged by the neck. Made to look like the kind of suicide that looks like a murder, if you know what I mean. Hands bound, unconvincing suicide note… I think you and I should have a little talk.

GEORGE: What about, about your friend?

JACK: Who told you about the Committee?

GEORGE: We ah, we went through this in the interview! Didn’t we?

JACK: Tell me the name of your contact.

GEORGE: I can’t.

JACK: George. I am pointing a gun at your head. So tell me the name of your contact!

GEORGE: I… I can’t!

JACK: It’s a case of you telling me their name, or you dying! Which is it gonna be?

GEORGE: I can’t tell you their name.

JACK: Why not George!

GEORGE: Because they don’t exist!

JACK: What?

GEORGE: They don’t exist. They’re not real. There is no CIA contact. I have no contact in the CIA, or MI6, or the SVR, or Mossad, or ISI, or BMD, or any of them! I made them all up.

JACK: You’re lying.

GEORGE: You think I’d lie at a time like this? You think this is the lie?

JACK: But that doesn’t make any sense.

GEORGE: Oh, this is hilarious. You, you break into my hotel room in the middle of the night, you point a gun at me, and when I tell you the truth, the actual truth, you say it doesn’t make any sense. Hahaha. Oh, that is priceless.

JACK: You think this is a joke?

GEORGE: No. This isn’t a joke. But I tell you what is – you conspiracy nutters. When I started doing this, if anyone had told me about you people, I’d have thought twice. There isn’t a moment’s rest, the letters and the emails. And the funny thing is, it’s never the really far-fetched stuff that people bring you up on. Oh, you can tell them that JFK was assassinated by aliens from outer space, and they’ll believe every word of it, but mention frame 207 of the Zapruder footage when you really mean 208… And you’ll never hear the end of it.

JACK: Are you honestly telling me you made all this up?

GEORGE: What, you think there really is a plot by aliens from the planet Erebus to plunder the Moon? (chuckles) No, that really is ridiculous. Listen, I know you guys can get pretty intense about this sort of thing, and uh, you seem to have some issues of your own, so I’ll try and let you down gently, but it isn’t true. Trust me, it’s not. And I’ll happily tell you everything, if you’d just lower that gun. Okay?

JACK: Ok.

GEORGE: Now, if it’s all right with you, I’m going to get out of bed, go to the minibar, and get myself a miniature single malt, yes?

JACK: I thought you were in recovery.

GEORGE: Well, if anyone asks, I’m blaming you for my relapse. Ah! Oh, my word. That is good. Have one? No? Marvelous, more for me.

JACK: Slow down, and tell me everything, right from the start.

GEORGE, NARRATING: I’d been a journalist for, ooh, twenty-five years? And all I saw were the same stories, repeating themselves over and over. Everything felt like a remake. Biafra in 1968, Ethiopia in ’84, same problems. Just being shifted around the globe from one country to the next.

When they offered me a studio job, I grabbed it with both hands. No more shantytowns, no more warzones, except, of course, in the studio, it was intensified. Now, I wasn’t covering one story at a time, I was covering eight or nine a day. War, famine, pestilence, death, war, famine, pestilence, death. Like the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse on a bloody carousel. Something had to snap, sooner or later. And yes, at the time, part of me was convinced there was something sinister was going on behind the scenes. But it was just paranoia, that’s all. I got better, sobered up, wrote a book about my time as a reporter. And no one wanted it. Not one publisher showed any interest. They said, “How can readers take anything that man says seriously?” I was a joke. Well. When life gives you lemons…

KATE: Dad, Dad.

GEORGE: Hm?

KATE: Can you sit down ? You’re making me anxious.

GEORGE: We need to think of something, though. It’s got to be something original, something that makes people sit up and pay attention.

KATE: Are you really sure about this?

GEORGE: What do you mean?

KATE: I just wonder if putting yourself out there in the limelight again…

GEORGE: Darling, I’m sure.

KATE: But a book about aliens?

GEORGE: You were the one who suggested it.

KATE: I was joking!

GEORGE: And it’s a brilliant idea, Kate. Go online, look how well this stuff sells! Besides, you might as well put that creative writing degree to some use.

KATE: Thanks, Dad.

GEORGE: But we need a name for them, these aliens.

KATE: What sort of a name?

GEORGE: I don’t know. Something different, something ominous.

KATE: Ooh! The Varangians!

GEORGE: Where did that come from?

KATE: Ninth-century Russian Vikings. I always thought they sounded like something out of Star Trek.

GEORGE: No, don’t want anything like that.

KATE: You’re right. It has to be something a bit, I dunno, cool. Like, the Bureau, or the Committee.

GEORGE: The Committee! Oh, I like that!

KATE: Really? I mean, that was just me thinking out loud.

GEORGE: No, no, that’s good. They sound faceless, oppressive! Exactly what we’re looking for.

 Back to Present.

GEORGE: The Committee.

JACK: What if I told you it was all true?

GEORGE: Oh, this again. I’d suggest you’re desperately in need of professional help. But to be honest, I think we’ve already established that. (gets another drink) Oh, I’ve missed this stuff. You know, in one of my books – I can’t even remember which one it was…I, I claimed that alcohol was a plot by the Committee to keep humans compliant. Hilarious. Yeah. And now I get thousands of fan letters from people saying they’ve gone teetotal so they won’t become drones like everyone else. Talk about irony. (sighs) So, go on. The Committee is real, Erebus is real, is that the gist of what you’re trying to tell me?

JACK: More or less.

GEORGE: Brilliant. Well, in that case, I’ll carry on doing what I’m doing, then. Because if what you say is true, then it turns out I’ve been doing the world a great big favor all along. I get to keep my book royalties and my share of the box office, and save the world at the same time. Excellent.

JACK: It is not that simple.

GEORGE: No?

JACK: You’ve forgotten about Sam Hallet?

GEORGE: Is the lad you say was killed?

JACK: That’s right.

GEORGE: And like I said, I’ve never heard of him. You could still be making it up, for all I know.

JACK: I watched him die.

GEORGE: So you’re telling me. (gets yet another drink) Who on Earth puts schnapps in a minibar? So what exactly do you want me to do, Mr. Harkness? You want me to carry on, you want me to quit? To be honest, at my age, retirement sounds wonderful.

JACK: And you would do that?

GEORGE: I think Kate might miss the traveling, and she’d probably have to find herself a proper job, but otherwise, yes, I will bugger off to somewhere sunny and you will never hear from me again! This lad, Sam, was it? How old was he?

JACK: I don’t know. Twenty, twenty-one.

GEORGE: Christ. Not much younger than Kate. You play around with the truth, with people’s thoughts, with their perceptions like that, sooner or later you will suffer the consequences. Maybe it is time I quit.

JACK: But still, I don’t understand, if you just made all of it up, how could you get so much of it right? I mean, did any of this come to you in, I dunno, a dream? A vision?

GEORGE: Like the vision of St. Eustace? No! There was no divine flash, just a lot of sitting around, and talking, and writing down funny little names, and silly ideas, and working out which ones were the most marketable. Sorry if that’s a crushing disappointment to you. Cheers.

 **

JACK, NARRATING: It was possible. Seven billion people in the world – Get enough of them to tell a lie, and one of them might accidentally tell the truth. But that didn’t change what happened to Sam Halet. The kid was still dead. And a lot of people wanted to know what Torchwood had to do with it.

 

Scene change. People talking – breakfast at George’s hotel.

KATE: Morning, Dad.

GEORGE: Ugh, Kate. You’re early.

KATE: Thought I’d get out of London before rush hour. Good thing I did, the M4 was empty most of the way here, and if you time if wrong, that junction by Heathrow can be a nightmare! …You look terrible. You feeling okay?

GEORGE: Not particularly.

KATE: Well what’s wrong? Are you ill?

GEORGE: Not as such.

KATE: Oh, no.

GEORGE: Look, love. I’m sorry …

KATE: I knew I shouldn’t have gone to London. I should have had Jerry drive up here and meet us for supper. At least then I could have kept an eye on you.

GEORGE: I’m not a child.

KATE: And yet, the second I’m not here, you drink the bar dry!

GEORGE: It was the minibar, actually.

KATE: Oh, of course. I should have had them empty it as soon as we got here. Or at least put a padlock on it. Look, Dad, it’s okay; we’ve been here before, remember? You got through it then, you’ll get through it this time. You’re strong.

GEORGE: This was different.

KATE: Please, Dad, you don’t have to make excuses, not with me. 

GEORGE: (interrupting) No, no, I mean, this is how it happened. There was a man here. The one who interviewed me yesterday. Harkness. He broke into the hotel room.

KATE: Hang on, what?

GEORGE: He had a gun.

KATE: Dad, that’s not funny.

GEORGE: He told me it’s all true, Kate. He said that some blogger, this young lad, got himself killed. When I turned on the TV this morning, he was right. This boy, they said he hanged himself, but everything else about it, Harkness said it was murder.

KATE: And you believed him?

GEORGE: I didn’t know what to do. Or think. I was scared. He had a gun.

KATE: Did you call the police?

GEORGE: I couldn’t. By the time he’d left, well, I was too drunk to do anything.

KATE: And it was Harkness who told you all this?

GEORGE: Yes.

KATE: Okay. Well, why don’t you finish your coffee, and we’ll go upstairs. And we’ll talk about what we do next. Yeah?

GEORGE: Yes.

 Scene change.

JACK, NARRATING: I had no reason to doubt George Wilson’s version of events. But I had to make sure. I hacked into his hotel security system and watched their CCTV feed. Killing two birds with one stone, I looped some earlier footage to remove all evidence I was ever there, then skimmed through the next few hours. Wilson left his room at eight, and went downstairs for breakfast, where he was joined by his daughter. I zoomed in on their conversation, and though I couldn’t hear what was being said, it was clear he was telling her what had happened. He had his hands over his eyes, he looked ashamed. And so he didn’t notice her expression. But I did. Her well-rehearsed sympathy vanished in a fraction of a second. And that was when the phone rang.

JACK, NOW: Yes?

KATE: Hello, Jack.

JACK: How did you get this number?

KATE: We have our ways.

JACK: Ways?

KATE: Come now, Jack. Faux naiveté really doesn’t suit you. Seems you and Daddy had a little chat last night.

JACK: That’s right.

KATE: You told him all about the Halet boy. Tsss, tsss. Bit hasty. We really were hoping you’d hold out a while. We tend to find these things benefit from a longer gestation.

JACK: What are you talking about?

KATE: Meet us at the hotel, and I’ll explain everything. Come straight to our room and don’t even think about bringing your friends. Or we’ll know. (hangs up)

JACK, NARRATING: I ran through the hotel, taking the stairs up to Wilson’s floor. My gun was drawn the by the time I reached the corridor. No time for good manners. I wasn’t gonna knock.

 Gunshot.

JACK: Ow!

KATE: Oh, really, Jack, you literally walked right into that one.

JACK: Urgh!

KATE: I just clipped your spinal cord, that’s all. It’s quite pointless trying to move. That was a .45 ACP round. They’re very effective. I imagine it will take even you some time to recover from that. All those shattered bits of bone and nervous tissue blended together like corned beef hash.

GEORGE: Mmmph!

JACK, NARRATING: Wilson was tied to a chair. Hands behind his back, and a gag in his mouth.

JACK: What. What are you doing?

KATE: (smacks Jack) Try to stay with me, Jack; it’s important you pay attention.

JACK: You’re one of the Committee!

KATE: Give yourself a gold star!

JACK: But you’re his daughter!

KATE: Adopted daughter. Really, I thought you might have done a bit more homework. Yes. I’m one of the Committee. What you might call “deep cover”. Very deep cover. You know, I think the teenage years were the hardest. All those pretend tantrums, “You’re not even my real parents!” Then, pretending to give a shit when he and Lorraine split up. I should win an Oscar, Jack. Really, I should. Now, I won’t bother asking how you know all about us. We never forget a face. Kepri 5, wasn’t it?

JACK, NARRATING: Let’s rewind again, and take ourselves to the far side of the known universe. (Star Wars-y sounds) Kepri 5, in the constellation of Fornax. How did I get there? Don’t ask. Long story short, the government was taken over, infiltrated. Civil war broke out. Ninety-percent of the population wiped out overnight. Within a year, the planet’s three moons were being stripped of minerals by prospectors from, you guessed it, Erebus. And Kepri 5 wasn’t the only place where this happened. Planets in Cygnus A, Omega Centauri, Andromeda… all fell to the Committee. Back then, I was what George Wilson might have called an Enabler. I’m not proud. But you can’t change the past. When the Committee began surveying the Milky Way’s Orion arm, I lied to them. Said there was nothing of interest on Earth, and sent them off to some mining colony 600 parsecs away. Population – two thousand. I thought I’d done the right thing.

(Sounds of shooting and explosions)

KATE, NOW: We kept a file on you, Jack. And we seem to remember a certain someone telling us that Earth was a… what were your exact words? A barren wasteland? Worthless? Bit of a poor call, that one, wasn’t it? We thought we had a deal, Jack. A working relationship. Well, when we found out you were on Earth, and working for Torchwood, it was – what’s the local idiom – as if all our Christmases had come at once!

JACK: Uh, I don’t understand.

KATE: Of course you don’t.

JACK: W… why would you tell George everything?

KATE: But I didn’t tell him everything, did I? I fed him details. Fragments.

JACK: But why?

KATE: He’s perfect! A famous face with a reputation in tatters. Exactly what we were looking for. You see, we’ve been studying Earth for just over a hundred years, and in that time, we’ve learned one very important thing about humanity.

JACK: Which is?

KATE: They love a lie. Myths, legends, tall tales, call it what you will, humans just can’t get enough of them! And the lies they love most of all, are the ones they fall for.

GEORGE: Mmm!

KATE: Hush, Daddy! Time and time again, people fell for the most outlandish stories they were told. The underground Reich, the Iluminati, JFK. And here’s the best bit: While a certain number believe each conspiracy, most don’t. They talk about them, and rubbish them, and mark anyone who believes in them, but they remain skeptical. George is our very own little boy who cried wolf. And now, so are you. And when the wolf arrives and gobbles up all the sheep, the vast majority won’t believe a word of it.

GEORGE: Mmmh!

KATE: (sharply) Do you have something to say?

GEORGE: Ah! Darling, I don’t know what you’re doing this, but if it’s to, to, to scare him off, uh, we don’t have to do this, you know.

KATE: You think this is all play-acting? That is, well, that is just precious!

JACK: But why did you kill Sam?

GEORGE: You killed that lad?

KATE: Yes, Daddy, do try and keep up. Why did we kill him… dramatic flair, Jack. It helps if you have the odd mysterious death along the way, keeps people talking.

JACK: (growling) And what does that have to do with Torchwood?

KATE: I’m glad you asked. You see, the Hallet boy’s death is already creating quite a buzz in online circles, but what makes it perfect, is that within hours of the story breaking, my father will be discovered dead.

GEORGE: What?

KATE: And once again, Torchwood will have their grubby little fingerprints all over it.

GEORGE: Darling, w-what are you talking about?

JACK: Stop!

 Kate shoots at George.

JACK: You killed him.

KATE: You’re observant, Jack, I’ll give you that.

JACK: (horrified) Why?

KATE: He’d done all that we needed him to do.

JACK: I won’t let you get away with this!

KATE: Oh, Jack, you say that as though you expect a fleet of spaceships to appear over Cardiff any second, so you can call your little friends and get them to fire their guns at them nasty aliens. Adorable! Now, I don’t know how long you usually take to heal, so I think I’d best go for a headshot.

JACK: No, no, no!

 Kate shoots Jack.

**

Mysterious music. Watery sounds.

JACK, NARRATING: You ever dived into deep water? There’s a moment in those first few seconds, when the light above you grows dim. When it shrinks down to a pinpoint. That’s what it’s like. Each and every time.

JACK, NOW: (gasps dramatically)

JACK, NARRATING: When I woke up, Kate was gone. It was just me, and George, and a whole lot of blood. And not enough time to cover my tracks. I got out of there before the police could arrive.

JACK, ON A RECORDING: So that’s it, guys. That’s why I’m out of here. You’ve all handled things without me in the past, so, I am sure you’ll cope. Someone needs to stop them, and I figure that someone is me. If they’re already on Earth, then the Committee is everywhere. In every government, in every boardroom, on every TV screen. Hm. And I am coming for them.

 

Torchwood theme

THE END