Doctor Who_ Loving The Alien Part 20

'Working for who?' Ace didn't know what he was talking about.

'The Russians! I didn't want to believe it...'

'I'm not working for the Russians! I'm not working for anybody!

Let me out!'

She pushed forward, trying to dislodge him. He thrust her back hard.

She tripped on the edge of the mattress and her head slammed into the wall. She sank back onto the bed, dazed.

Jimmy couldn't look at her.

102.

'You're flamin' barmy...' she said.

Without another word the American broke from the room, slamming the door behind him.

Ace could hear the key turning in the lock.

She couldn't believe this...

'You really expect me to believe that crock?'

Things weren't going the Doctor's way at Winnerton Flats. Major Collins didn't seem in a receptive mood.

'Listen to him, Collins!' Drakefell yelled. 'It sounds insane but he might actually be telling the truth.'

He took a step forward. Collins raised his gun.

'I don't care,' said Collins. 'It's not my job to ponder the great unknown it's my job to round up unauthorised personnel.'

'I'm authorised,' said Drakefell.

O'Brien looked him up and down. Mud-caked dressing-gown, one filthy slipper, one bare foot, pieces of twig in his hair.

'I'm sorry, but you've been categorised a security risk, Director. The general's been watching you. He thinks you're cracking up.'

'He hasn't the right '

'Look, buddy,' Collins said, not unkindly 'like it or not, this is in the hands of the US military now You just present the public front to the Brits.'

'I haven't got time for this,' grumbled the Doctor, and turned his thoughts once more to the dimension stabiliser.

'Stand away from that machine,' Collins shouted.

The Doctor ignored him.

'You're all under arrest on suspicion of espionage.

Outside they could hear the roar of vehicles and shouts of soldiers.

'Come on, Bill,' Davey O'Brien e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed. 'You know the Russkies haven't got anything like this look at it!'

A great rolling metallic rumble as the huge hangar doors were opened. Then an English voice shouted out. 'Major Collins...'

'That's Major Graham. He's the most senior English officer left here. It's out of my hands now,' said Collins. 'This is still technically a British operation.'

O'Brien sniffed disdainfully 'Situation's under control in here!' Collins shouted. 'Intruders! I'm bringing them out!'

He gestured with his gun.

'You heard me, move.'

The Doctor turned away.

103.

'Not without this,' he said, turning his back to Collins and dropping into a squat over the dimension stabiliser.

'I don't think you realise the gravity of your situation!' Collins barked. 'Espionage is '

He never finished the sentence. Outside there was a sudden, dull explosion, followed by two more. Machine-gun fire. Shouting.

The Doctor peered through a tear in the wreck's fuselage. Through the vast, open front of the hangar he could see troops scattering for cover amid clouds of billowing smoke. And running towards them out of the forest and through the gate, machine-guns blazing, were perhaps a dozen figures dressed in tough black fatigues. Commandos.

'Oh, dear,' the Doctor said. 'We seem to be under attack.'

It took Rita two hours to make enough of a hole in the thatch for her to drag herself through. Then, clinging to a drainpipe to slow her descent, she more or less slid down to the ground.

She was exhausted, hungry and she stank, but at least she was free.

The road, flanked by high, neat hedges, stretched out ahead of her. She set off into the dark. It was a nice night more like late summer than the end of November.

The first thing she did was put some distance between herself and the cottage. She headed for where she thought Kennington tube station ought to be.

She didn't have any money. It had all been in her bag. She looked a state, covered in three hundred-year-old dust, grime and thatch. She'd have to blag it.

Looking like this? Who was she kidding?

Telephone... She'd call McBride, reverse the charges.

She looked about for a kiosk and noticed for the first time that, apart from the moon and stars, there was no light to be seen. The cottage must have been further out than she thought. No sign of a phone. She trudged on.

The hedges gave way to buildings. Still no telephone kiosk. And still no light. Must be a power cut.

Crossing a main road, she was almost knocked down by a taxi. She hadn't heard it coming it had come from nowhere.

It screeched to a halt and the driver got out.

'Sorry, love,' he said. 'Didn't see you there. You all right?'

Rita scrambled to her feet.

'I need help. I need to get to Grant Street. It's off behind St Paul's.

I've been locked in a cottage by Russian agents. They drugged me, they interrogated me...'

The driver chuckled.

104.

'Russian agents, eh?'

'Will you help me? I've got no money.'

'Oh, I get it. Hop in then.'

Rita couldn't believe her luck. She scrambled in.

'And next time,' the driver said, starting the engine, 'remember you're in England now. You don't need no silly sob story.'

He chuckled.

'The Russians! You should do your homework love. They're our friends. Your first visit, is it?'

'Uh, no,' said Rita.

'It must be b.l.o.o.d.y marvellous for you lot,' the driver said, 'coming over here. Another world.'

'I'd hardly call it marvellous,' said Rita.

'Well, you're about the only one,' said the driver. 'You run about with your little cameras, always wanting to use the phone...'

'Can you stop at a phone?' Rita chipped in. 'I need to call someone.

'See what I mean? This is England, love! It's only you lot use them.

There's hardly any left.'

'What?'

'We've got no use for them, 'ave we?'

'Excuse me? Are we still talking about the same thing?'

The driver suddenly swerved, and Rita was practically thrown from the seat.

'Maniac!' the driver yelled out of the window.

For the first time Rita noticed how fast they were going. Then to her horror she realised that the taxi had no lights on.

'Hey, what happened to your lights!?' she yelled.

The driver sighed and threw a switch.

Bright headlights lit up the road in front. The road was thronging with traffic all of it driving in darkness, and all of it going at colossal speed. The driver killed the lights again.

'That's a ten quid fine if a copper caught me,' he said.

'What, for driving with your lights on at night?'

'Confuses the animals and birds,' said the driver.

Rita shook her head vigorously. Obviously whatever drug Dumont-Smith and his friends had given her was still in her system. It was confusing her. Either that or she'd got into a car with a maniac.

'Gettin' busy, love,' said the driver. 'You'd best belt up.'

'What? Oh.' Rita fumbled for the safety-belt.

Just in time. The driver hauled the wheel hard around to the right, and Rita felt herself thrown in the opposite direction. He swerved again, one hand on the wheel, the other out of the window making a 105 rude gesture. Rita was thrown the other way.

'Sorry about that, love,' the driver said, then promptly did it again.

'Why don't you slow down, for G.o.d's sake!' she yelled.

'No need,' the driver said. 'We never crash.'

Cody McBride had covered the zoo three times and found nothing. The place was deserted now. It gave him the creeps. It was a still night, and the smell of the animals was heavy in the air. Behind shadowy gla.s.s and bars he could hear their constant muted roar, their calls, their sleep, their nocturnal rituals. He switched on his flashlight. Unlikely to be discovered now A sudden shriek made him spin around, his light darting across the darkness, finding two black eyes staring at him. A row of sharp grinning teeth. He leapt back with a cry.

He drew a deep breath. It was just an ugly baboon or something. He was back at the monkey house. Square one.

Nothing for it, it'd have to be breaking and entering. Not the ape house though no fear. His torchlight found the small mammals'

enclosure. That was more the sort of thing he had in mind. He strode to the door and tested it. Pretty solid. No problem. He fished his jemmy from inside his coat and thrust it between door and jam.

The door was tough. The wood splintered slowly, loudly protesting McBride's every heave on the iron bar. He stopped, breathless.

'h.e.l.lo...'

A voice. A girl.

'Is anybody there? I'm locked in.'

It was coming from the primate house. His torch found a row of cellar windows set at ground level, partly obscured by gra.s.s. The voice was coming from one of them.

'Ace? Is that you?'