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"Mr Frobisher," The voice was unfamiliar and he would have hung up if it wasn't for the veiled menace.
"Who are you," he demanded. There really wasn't time for this tomfoolery.
"Jack Harkness may be a better man," the dark voice said, "but I'm not. I have your wife and your children and if you don't want them to be the first to die then you better do what I tell you."
John Frobisher had felt the clammy grip of fear at the first words. His stomach heaved and he could taste the bitterness of bile in the back of his throat. If he was a better man he would weigh the loss of his family against all the people who would be saved it they gave in to the 456 - what was one more family given all the others they were taking about sacificing. But it wasn't one more family - it was his.
"I have Harkness' daughter and grandson..." he threatened.
The voice laughed and it wasn't a nice sound. "And you think that I won't let you kill them? Think again. I am not Jack Harkness - I am just someone he works with and if he wants to try and put a bullet in my head when this is over he can have his shot. But you need to worry about the funerals you will have to arrange, let me worry about mine."
He wasn't a better man. "What do you want?"
***
Alex Krycek hung up the phone having given his instructions and looked at the three frightened, tear streaked faces that were looking back at him. Jack would be pissed, to put it mildly, but he would understand why. At least, he would understand if Alex didn't have to prove he wasn't bluffing.
"Let's hope he loves you as much as he thinks he does," he told them.
***
John Frobisher could feel the cold of death creeping over him. It felt surprisingly peaceful. He had done what the voice demanded - ordered the Carters release and offered Torchwood's ultimatum to the alien. The reaction had not been good.
He wondered if the bastard on the phone had expected the virus.
He wondered if Harkness knew.
He found he didn't blame them if they had - he was, after all, expendable. As his breath caught in his lungs, heavy and congealing in a way air should never be, he thought of his family. Had he saved them? Or damned them all? Maybe they would fight. Maybe that was what the human race was about, risking everything rather than trading away their souls. The word 'Doctor' came to his mind from somewhere far away and long ago, from somewhere that never happened, a prayer he no longer had the strength to say.
He died knowing, somehow, that hope did not die with him.