Doctor Who_ Loving The Alien Part 10

He sank into an angry silence, then. 'Well, at least leave me your whisky. I can easily half-inch some pills from the nurses' trolley. That should do the job.'

56.'Will you quit it with the suicide c.r.a.p?' McBride snapped.

Silence again.

'There's nothing else you can do for me,' said Mullen. 'You might as well go.'

McBride hesitated for a moment, then stood up, defeated.

Momentarily he rested his hand on the bed. The blankets were damp.

For the first time he noticed the drip-feed had come out of Mullen's arm and was leaking its contents into the bedclothes.

'What are you doing?' McBride shouted. 'Nurse!'

'You won't stop me!' Mullen gasped, close to tears. 'I'll find a way.'

'Nurse!'

The nurse hurried in.

'What's going on in here?'

'His drip's come loose.

The nurse made a scolding noise, took the end of the tube and loosened the bandages that had been attaching it to Mullen's upper arm. McBride averted his eyes he didn't like this sort of thing.

'What are we going to do with you?' the nurse chided. 'You'll have to be more careful. Try not to move around too much.'

'But I'm playing football in an hour, nurse,' Mullen grunted, rolling his eyes. And then, not quite under his breath, 'Silly b.i.t.c.h.'

To his surprise McBride heard Mullen chuckle.

'Now that's not the att.i.tude, is it?' the nurse chirped. 'Bright and breezy fights diseasey.'

Mullen was guffawing openly now. Suddenly, and to his surprise, so was McBride.

'And tell me, nurse, how's my "disease" coming along?'

'You know what I mean,' said the nurse briskly. 'How are our bowels today, Mr Mullen?'

'Mine are fine,' snapped Mullen. 'Yours seem a bit tight...'

'Mr Mullen, there's no need to be offensive.'

She finished tying off the bandage.

'Chief Inspector Mullen.' He sounded more like his old self. 'Now if you'd excuse us...'

'Yes, well please try to '

'Get out, woman!'

The nurse bristled, gathered her affronted dignity and left the room.

'Give me your gun,' growled Mullen. 'Not for me change of plan.'

McBride chortled, and both men started to laugh again.

'You'd better not,' grinned McBride. 'She's NHS property.'

They laughed long and hard. It was a relief.

'Anyway I'll never be able to do myself in with her breathing down 57 my neck,' Mullen said. 'Not a chance.'

McBride broke out the hip-flask again and they drank.

'What am I going to do, McBride?' asked Mullen with a sort of sad resignation.

'The Doc's here now,' McBride replied. 'Remember what he was up against before Lazonby the nut from British intelligence... that sneaky old creep George Limb, not to mention our big silver buddies.

And the n.a.z.is you remember the news from Jersey... The Doc sorted all that out.

'He didn't though, did he?' said Mullen. 'And now it's all started up again.

Dr Bill Hark, the white-coated surgeon in charge of the unfortunate Chief Inspector Mullen, sipped tea from a stiff paper cup that burned his fingers and listened to Matron tearing the radiographer off a strip.

He removed a birthday card from the pocket of his lab coat. His kids had slipped it into his briefcase this morning. Or probably Sue did it for them. He smiled as he read their childish, raggedy declarations of love. He was home so infrequently because of his work...

He sat at the narrow counter and unwrapped his sandwiches. Sue had slipped in a miniature bottle of brandy, with a ribbon tied around the neck. He chuckled aloud.

He set the card up next to his little meal and started to eat.

Moments later the doors swung wildly inward and a grizzled figure in a grimy mac stormed in. Dr Hark jumped to his feet, spilling tea down the front of his white coat.

'Uh, listen... you're the guy in charge of my buddy, yeah? Joe Mullen.'

'And you'd be Mr...'

'McBride. He was saying something to me about artificial legs...'

Dr Hark put his half-empty cardboard cup down and wiped crumbs from his mouth. 'Yes...'

'Well, he ain't happy about it.'

'Naturally we will give him plenty of time to decide. We will explain the procedure fully, make sure he understands what it's all about.

'He understands! And he's already made his mind up. The answer's no.'

'Your friend won't be strong enough for the operation for some time, Mr McBride. He has ample time to think about it.'

The intruder made to interject.

'But naturally ' Dr Hark cut him off with smooth, calming 58 authority. ' should he decide not to go through with the operation, we shall of course abide by his wishes.'

'Well, I'll be checking in on him regular, keeping an eye on things.'

'You are, of course, free to visit your friend. Dr Hark smiled. 'This isn't a prison, you know.'

'Just so's you know I'm watching you.'

The American turned on his heel and marched out.

Hark's a.s.sistant scuttled across from where he'd been keeping his head down.

'Who was that?' Ernie Bure asked.

'His name is Cody McBride. An American, of course. He's a detective.'

'Police?' Bure queried nervously.

'No, of course not. Private. Didn't you notice the bad Humphrey Bogart impersonation?'

'I can't see why we need to use the old man anyway. There must be younger specimens.'

'For this particular experiment,' Dr Hark lowered his voice, 'it isn't particularly important whether the subject lives or dies. And it will be interesting to see how an older body copes with the stresses of augmentation?'

He picked up his cup and drained the dregs, watching through the gla.s.s door panels as McBride's receding figure, far off down the corridor, turned and strode out into Whitechapel Road.

'And besides,' Hark said, 'Chief Inspector Mullen and our American friend have tried to cause trouble for the Programme for years. The old b.a.s.t.a.r.d's got it coming to him.'

Behind them, Matron had recovered from McBride's intrusion, and was resuming her barracking of Geoff Perkins, the radiographer.

'Well, you must have done something wrong! Look at these!'

She waved a sheaf of X-rays in Perkins's face.

'Look, I dunno how they got like that. It's the machine.'

'A bad workman blames his tools, Perkins. How would the machine make it look as if the poor man has two hearts?'

'It must be the lens.'

'May I see those, Matron?'

Dr Hark strolled over to Matron.

'Really, it's just some silly joke, Dr Hark.'

'Then share the joke with me, Matron.'

He gently prised the X-rays from her grasp. A male thoracic cavity...

with what did indeed appear to be two hearts.

59.'Where is this patient, Matron?' he asked urgently.

'Oh, he was discharged hours ago; Matron replied. 'Just cuts and bruises.

Dr Hark crossed to the ward desk in a second, s.n.a.t.c.hed up the phone and began to dial. He drummed his fingers anxiously on the desk as he waited for a reply.

'Yes... This is Dr Hark calling from the London... General Crawhammer, please... Yes, very urgent.'

60.

Chapter Seven.

Several hours earlier the Doctor had left hospital with a sore head and very little time. The bomb blast had knocked him out, and left him with a concussion that might have killed a human. He knew well that his brain had already largely healed itself, but of course the hospital staff couldn't know that, and had refused to be convinced he was fine. In the end he'd lost patience and walked out, leaving McBride with his hasty good wishes for the Chief Inspector.

He shuddered at the memory of the last time he'd walked down Whitechapel Road. The year had been 1888, and the Doctor anything but himself he'd even tried to kill Ace.4 Ironic now he was racing against the clock to save her life.

Pushing away the memory, he hurried onto a crowded District Line train. Seven stops to the Temple station, then up Middle Temple Lane, past the ancient Inn of Court to Fleet Street.

It took him some time to find Rita Hawks's office. The paper she worked for turned out not actually to be on on Fleet Street (as she had implied) so much as in a narrow pa.s.sageway Fleet Street (as she had implied) so much as in a narrow pa.s.sageway not all that far from not all that far from Fleet Street. Fleet Street. The London Inquisitor The London Inquisitor. He pushed through the Poky reception area, which was crowded with noisy men and women all talking at once.

'One at a time!' a tetchy voice shouted from somewhere in the crowd. No one took any notice.

'Me cat's got the Divil in him! He's possessed!'

'Well, kindly tell your editor that he will be hearing from my solicitor, and that I'll see him in court!'

'Ave you 'eard about that dodgy vicar down Peckham way? Scandal, it is! On the floor, staring up the contraltos' ca.s.socks!'

The Doctor somehow managed to reach the reception desk, where a youth sat with his shirt-sleeves rolled up, scowling blackly and filling in a crossword puzzle.

'Rita Hawks, please,' the Doctor said brusquely.

4 See Doctor Who - Matrix Doctor Who - Matrix 61.The young man looked up from his puzzle. 'Didn't you 'ear what I said? One at a time. Someone'll see you in a bit.'

He returned his attention to his newspaper.

'Six across,' snapped the Doctor. 'Obstructive. Three down.