Doctor Who_ Amorality Tale Part 11

'No! No! You can't do this to me! You need me! I know the ways of these primitives! I can still be useful! Wait! Wait!'

Then he was no more, subsumed into the triumvirate. They pulsed with the extra energy, then resumed their delicate patterns of hovering.

'A mistake.'

'Deleted.'

'Our plans.'

'Advanced.'

'Success.'

'Inevitable.'

The triumvirate nodded in agreement.

In the TARDIS, the Doctor had been busy lashing together a handheld device from circuits and wiring plundered from the central console. He was running a test on the prototype when the ambient light began to dim in the control room.

Some kind of energy drain. What could be causing that, he wondered. Several of the indicator needles on display dials in the central console were flickering wildly between zero and off the scale. The Doctor ran from panel to panel, trying to absorb all that was happening. According to the TARDIS instruments, someone had just operated a matter transmission system. It could only be the Xhinn!

Suddenly the room was ablaze with light for a second, before slowly returning to its normal level. The Doctor stood, scratching his head. A ma.s.sive energy surge, which was then slowly reabsorbed, he decided.

He examined the handheld device. The Xhinn vessel must be nearby. He began to adjust the circuits. If he could re-route the wiring, he might be able to turn it into a homing device. But the apparatus did not respond. The display winked once, then died away. The Doctor looked at it despairingly. The energy surge must have overloaded the circuits.

Outside the TARDIS, a police patrol car was parked in Whitecross Street, near the intersection with Old Street. Sergeant Diggle clambered out from the vehicle, his ample belly struggling to free itself from behind the steering wheel. His wife was always complaining about having to adjust his uniform to allow s.p.a.ce for his ever widening waistline. Was it Diggle's fault that he had a weakness for jellied eels and mash?

The police sergeant checked his wrist watch. It was nearly two o'clock. The sun would not be setting for another two hours, but already he could feel the night drawing in. Diggle hated these long winter nights. If he didn't get outside during his lunch break, he never saw the sun at all. It was dark when he arrived at the station and dark again by the time he left for home.

Like living in a tunnel, he thought bleakly. Oh well, better go see what young Hodge is fussing about. Then he could get back to the station before the shift ended.

The sergeant strolled around the corner into Old Street.

Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, and yet there was something strange here, Diggle decided. But he couldn't put his finger on it. At last, realisation struck home. Where was everybody? The street was deserted. No cars or lorries moving in any direction, and no pedestrians on the street.

A glint of metal caught his eye. Diggle walked over to the gutter where a knife had been dropped. A drop of blood was visible on the blade. The sergeant dipped his finger into the redness. It was still tacky, like discarded paint. Probably two or three hours since this blood was spilled, which would partially confirm Hodge's wild story. There had been an altercation outside St Luke's Church and somebody was hurt, probably stabbed. But Diggle could find no evidence of floating monsters or ma.s.s murder.

He looked up and down the street. Just in the few minutes he had been here the far reaches of the long, straight road had disappeared, swallowed up by a gathering fog. Looks like the city was in for a real pea-souper, Diggle thought. He fancied a nice bowl of pea soup right now, perhaps with some tinned ham chopped into cubes and dropped into the swirling liquid.

The police sergeant knew there was little point in asking local residents if they had witnessed anything. For a start, people knew better than to discuss Ramsey Mob business with the police. Secondly, they would probably think him mad if he started asking them about blue death rays. They'd probably be right, too. But Diggle did know one place he could be sure of getting a straight answer. He walked up the stone steps and opened the door into St Luke's Church.

Father Simmons was lying face down on the steps of the altar, his arms extended out sideways in a crucifix position. He prayed fervently, his eyes clenched shut, his lips mouthing the words of his mental supplication.

'My Saviour, why have you forsaken me? I have done your bidding, I have worked to extend your ministry, to bring your ways to the people of this parish. Is this not enough? Why do you send these fallen angels to test me? Saviour, give me a sign that I may better do your will...'

Sergeant Diggle cleared his throat to get the priest's attention. Simmons rose to a kneeling position, made the sign of the cross and then stood up. He genuflected to the altar before turning to face the policeman.

'Yes, my son?'

Diggle smiled nervously. He had never been a religious man, preferring to put his faith in things he could see, touch and taste.

He pointed at a pew. 'Can we sit down? I have to ask you a few questions.'

'Of course.' The priest took a seat next to the police sergeant. 'Now, how can I help you?'

'We've received reports about a disturbance outside this church at noon today. Have you seen anything?'

Father Simmons grabbed the policeman by the arm. 'Yes! I had been wondering whether I should report it. I was praying to the Saviour, asking for guidance when you came in. Your appearance is obviously a sign!'

'Well, I wouldn't go that far,' Diggle replied. He carefully removed his arm from the priest's grip, while taking a notebook and pencil from his breast pocket. Diggle licked the end of his pencil and got ready to take notes. 'If you could just tell me what you saw...'

'It was an angel a fallen angel,' Simmons said.

Diggle began writing. 'An angel...' He stopped. 'Sorry?'

'Yes, it was a fallen angel. The Doctor said so.'

'The Doctor. Who is he?'

'He has the watchmender's shop across the road. Or, at least, he did before that fire yesterday. You should investigate that most suspicious, it seemed to me.'

Diggle refused to be distracted. 'Father, you were talking about an angel.'

The priest described what had happened outside, with particular emphasis on the vengeful angel which came down to Earth and smote the unrepentant criminals. But it had spared his life, obviously recognising Simmons as a faithful servant of the Saviour.

Sergeant Diggle listened through all of this, not bothering to take notes. If Hodge's story had seemed like the rantings of a broken mind, the priest was giving the lad a good run for his money. Diggle nodded politely as Simmons tried to impress upon him the need for vigilance in the days ahead. There could be more angels and only the pure of heart would survive their fiery judgement, full of divine wrath and fury.

'Right,' Diggle replied, snapping his notebook shut and returning it to his pocket, along with the unused pencil. 'I'll be sure to tell the rest of the lads at the station about that.' He stood up and shook the priest's hand. 'Thank you for your time, Father. I'll let you get back to your, err, prayers.'

'No need,' Simmons said, his face at peace. 'You arrived in response to my pleas. Now I have given you this message, I need not fear the future. All will be well, as long as we believe.'

The police sergeant just nodded politely and left. Once outside, he shook his head in bewilderment. 'If that nutter's got a direct line to G.o.d, then I'm the next Chief Constable!' Diggle made his way back to the patrol car. In the short time he had been inside the church, the fog had drawn in even closer. It soon would become difficult to drive if visibility continued to shrink.

The police sergeant determined to get back to the station in good time.

Something had definitely happened on Old Street but exactly what was another matter. The only two witnesses had given such wildly varying accounts as to cancel each other out. Diggle decided to forget the whole thing. Unless somebody else came forward with a sensible statement, this incident was not going to be officially recorded.

Tommy watched his lieutenants arguing. Jack suggested caution in the face of this fresh enemy. They didn't know what this creature was capable of, but it had eradicated nearly two dozen men. Best to stay back, let others fight this monster. Once the conflict was over, the Ramsey Mob could step in and pick from the spoils.

Billy Valance was terrified. He had escaped one of the death blasts by mere inches and just wanted to get out of London.

Who knows how many of these creatures are in the city, pretending to be something they're not? How could anyone be trusted anymore?

Dave Butcher favoured an all-out attack, guns blazing. If they hit it with enough firepower, the thing had to go down, didn't it? Stood to reason. He wanted to make an alliance with the other gangland bosses, get their support. If they were going to fight this creature, they were going to need all the men and machine guns they could get.

Norman Page thought the whole thing had been a trick, a mirage like he used to see in the desert during the war. They were all having some sort of ma.s.s hysteria, where they thought they saw this creature. But it couldn't have been real, could it?

Just nonsense. It was all a trick, probably by a rival gang. Yeah, that was it, a trick.

Brick said nothing, keeping his own counsel and tending to the coal fire warming the room. He hadn't seen what happened and found the other men's descriptions of events hard to grasp.

But they all seemed to believe themselves, except the sceptical Page. Something strange had taken place. Whatever Tommy decided to do, Brick would go along with it. He always did.

Tommy listened to them all while staring at the severed limb on the dining table. It had stopped twitching but he still found the pointed finger disturbing. Stranger still, the arm had never bled. After being sliced from Callum's body, the severed end just seemed to seal itself like it was waiting for something. Or somebody, Tommy thought with a shudder.

Just as he was about to speak, a sour-faced Sarah entered carrying a tray laden with cups of tea. She went round the table, slamming the tea down in front of each man. She left Tommy's until last, then stood to one side, waiting for his reaction. 'Ta very much,' he said, smiling at her.

'Don't thank me, thank your mother she made the tea,'

Sarah replied. Tommy expected her to leave but she stood her ground, obviously determined to stay. So be it. He stood up to address the men.

'I listened to what you've all had to say. Everybody's had something useful to offer except Page, of course, but he always talks out his a.r.s.e.'

The other men all laughed at that. Page was infamous in the Ramsey Mob for his contrary opinions and unfeasible notions.

But he also ran the best robbery crew in London and was one of Tommy's best earners. That gave him merit and the respect of the other lieutenants.

'I agree that we probably can't beat this thing on our own.

For that, we're going to need help from outside. So I'm going to summon some of the other gang leaders from the East End to a Council of War. Jack, when we're done here, I want you on the blower, calling round. It'll be better coming from you. Meeting's at midday, here.'

Jack nodded his agreement. Tommy walked slowly round the table, giving each man their task for the next few hours. 'Billy, I want the word spread on the street. Anybody who knows anything is to come to us first. Don't matter how trivial, I want to know about anything out the ordinary people have noticed.

There'll be a generous reward for information.'

'How generous?' Valance asked.

'Never you mind!' Tommy snarled. 'Dave, I want you to send the girls on holiday we're closing down the cat houses till this is over. We need every man we've got, we can't afford to be caught short.'

'Done. Where should I send the girls?'

'Use your initiative. Do I have to think of everything meself?

Last but not least, Norman shooters. We need to be well and truly tooled up. We got no idea what this monster is going to throw at us, so better safe than sorry. Lay your hands on every weapon you can.'

'Got it, boss.'

Sarah could stay silent no longer. 'What about the police?

Why don't you tell the police what's happened? They could call out the army. .' Her voice trailed away as she realised everyone was staring at her. 'What?'

Tommy gave voice to what all the others were thinking. 'For a start, we look after our own. We don't need the old bill sniffing around here. Second, do you really think they'd believe us? We ain't got any proof. All the bodies disappeared after that thing blasted them. The plods would just lock me in a nut hatch if I came forward with a yarn like that.'

'What about the arm?' Sarah asked, pointing at the severed limb. 'That's proof. You could give it to the police.'

Sergeant Diggle parked the patrol car outside the police station.

It had taken him nearly an hour to drive less than a mile back from Whitecross Street. The fog was closing in with alarming ferocity. Twice the policeman had needed to swerve onto the footpath to avoid a collision with vehicles that had strayed across the centre line. It was a great relief when he caught sight of the shining blue lamps outside the station.

Once inside he went straight to the canteen and demanded a mug of hot, sweet tea. He returned to the front desk and added a generous nip of whisky from a hip flask hidden in a drawer.

Purely for medicinal purposes, he told himself to ward off the biting cold outside.

He was swirling the last dregs of his tea around in the bottom of the cup when Hodge appeared at the desk. 'Well, how are you feeling now son?' Diggle asked. The constable smiled at him. 'Much better, sir. You were right, I must have b.u.mped my head before. It's funny, what I said happened earlier it hardly seems real now. Do you find anything outside the church?'

Hodge asked.

Diggle shook his head. 'I did talk to the parish priest. He told me some fantastic story about a fallen angel purging the world of its sins. I'd rather he purged us of that flamin' fog outside, it's a menace!'

The constable's face darkened at the mention of a fallen angel, but Hodge quickly resumed smiling. 'I know what you mean, sir. We've had three car crashes reported in the last hour.

I'm not looking forward to patrolling tomorrow if it's still like this.'

Tommy s.n.a.t.c.hed the severed limb up from the table. 'All this shows is that I cut somebody's arm off. I give this to the police and it might get me another stretch in Wandsworth, but it don't prove anything that's happened, does it?'

Sarah was not giving up that easily. 'But you could '

Before she could finish her sentence, the severed limb began twitching again. The fingers flexed and strained. Tommy looked at it in amazement. 'What the h.e.l.l?'

The severed arm twisted in Tommy's grasp and then launched itself at his throat. The fingers clenched the gangster's neck in a choke hold, trying to throttle him. Tommy pulled at the disembodied limb while gasping for breath.

'Get it off me!'

Brick ran to Tommy and pulled at the arm. With a supreme effort he pulled it off his boss and threw the limb into the blazing fireplace. The arm scuttled around in the flames, ready to launch itself again. But then the fire caught hold of the sleeve still encasing the limb, which burst into flames. The dining room was filled with a screaming noise as the flesh burned. Within moments it had seared away to nothing, leaving just the last sc.r.a.ps of cloth.

Tommy stood staring at the fireplace, one hand rubbing his neck. Angry red finger marks were already beginning to form beneath the skin. 'Thanks, Brick. I owe you one,' the gangster said, his voice reduced to a rasp. He looked at the others. 'Fat lot of use you all were.'

Jack and the lieutenants sank back into their chairs. 'I wouldn't have believed it if I hadn't seen it,' Butcher muttered.

'Exactly,' Tommy agreed. He approached Sarah and placed a hand on her shoulder. 'That's why we can't go to the police.

They'd never believe it.' Tommy clapped his hands, snapping everybody back to reality. 'Enough of this sitting about. You've got your jobs get to them!'