Doctor Who_ Timewyrm_ Exodus Part 19

Putting the envelope on the table, the man backed hastily from the room.

Ace picked up the envelope. It was heavy and expensive-looking, the kind, she imagined, that contained high-powered official invitations. It was addressed simply to: The Doctor.

Ace decided to open it. It might be important, in which case she could send it on to the Chancellery. Anyway, she was curious.

Inside the envelope was a plain white card. On it was engraved, Doctor Felix Kriegslieter: Aryan Research Inst.i.tute.

Underneath was an address in a street called the Kronprinzenstra.s.se.

Ace turned the card over. On the back was written: I so much enjoyed our recent meeting. We have much to discuss. Do please call.

Like any good tourist, Ace had bought a city map. She consulted it and discovered that Kronprinzenstra.s.se was just off the Kurfurstendamm, the long straight boulevard that ran through the heart of Berlin. And Kriegslieter was the strange-looking man the Doctor had noticed at the Nuremberg Rally, the man he'd been so fascinated by at the reception afterwards. Now Kriegslieter wanted to see the Doctor. It could well be important - and the Doctor might be tied up at the Chancellery all day.

Ace decided it was her duty to go in his place. She could explain that the Professor was tied up with old Adolf, make an appointment for some future occasion, and, at the same time, suss the bloke out. It would be great if she could hand the Professor some useful info when he got back. At least she'd be doing something . . .

Scribbling a quick note, Ace hurried from the hotel.

The car screeched to a halt and the Doctor and Bormann got out. Bormann looked proudly at the Doctor, antic.i.p.ating his awed reaction. Hitler's newly built Chancellery was enormous. Two incredibly tall columns flanked the door. Above them a huge stone eagle, wings spread wide, perched on top of a wreath embossed with a giant swastika. At the foot of each column stood a motionless SS sentry.

The Doctor craned his neck to peer up at the eagle. "That is the most grandiose piece of architecture I have ever seen."

"It is perhaps a little overpowering, at first sight," admitted Bormann, feeling guilty at even this hint of criticism.

They went up a flight of steps and on through the door into a vast marble presentation hall. From there they climbed stairs to a reception room, then pa.s.sed on through an enormous gallery whose shining marble floors stretched endlessly into the distance.

At the end of the gallery was a handsome circular reception room, about the size of a football pitch, where a number of familiar figures were standing around in little groups, most of them engaged in serious, low-voiced conversations. Goering was there, and other top Party officials.

To Barman's horror the Doctor said loudly, "You ought to run a bus service along here! Or at least issue bicycles. Roller skates would be a help."

Goebbels and the others looked shocked and disapproving. Goering chuckled and called, "An excellent idea, Doctor! Get on to it, will you, Martin? I'd like to see our little Heini on roller skates!"

With some relief, Bormann saw that Himmler wasn't present. He crossed the reception room and showed the Doctor into the holy of holies, the Fuehrer's study. The Doctor looked round in sheer disbelief, and Bormann could see that this time he really was impressed. The high-ceilinged room was a hundred feet long, and thirty feet wide. The dark red marble walls were hung with historical portraits and swastika-bearing shields. At the far end of the room was a ma.s.sive mahogany desk and in the red leather chair behind it sat Adolf Hitler, wearing, as he had promised, a simple brown tunic, his "soldier's coat".

Giving the Doctor a little push forward, Bormann slipped out of the room.

The Doctor drew a deep breath and set off on the long trek across the luxurious fitted carpet. Hitler smiled triumphantly as the Doctor approached, waving him to one of the armchairs grouped round the desk.

"Well, Doctor, what do you say now? It is two days since my armies entered Poland and its conquest is almost complete. Yet what do the British, or the French for that matter, say, or do? Nothing! Admit it! I was right, and you were wrong."

The Doctor sat quiet for a moment, calling on the formidable resources of his Time Lord memory.

"What is the date?" he asked quietly.

Adolf Hitler frowned. "September the third."

"And the time?"

Hitler glanced impatiently at a desk clock. "It is precisely one minute to nine."

Desperately hoping that his memory and his research were both accurate the Doctor said, "Then I ask you to wait - just that one minute."

The next sixty seconds were the longest of the Doctor's many lives. Had his unknown enemies outthought him? Was it here, here and now, that they had changed history, diverted the timestream? If so, he was lost, his credibility as a prophet destroyed.

Nine o'clock came at last, and somewhere in the Chancellery a clock began striking the hour. Before the last stroke had sounded the distant door opened and Ribbentrop hurried into the room. Behind him was a nervous, bespectacled little man clutching a sheet of paper.

"There is a communication from the British Amba.s.sador. . . " He paused, fl.u.s.tered at the sight of the Doctor.

Hitler waved him forwards. "You may speak freely before Doctor Schmidt."

Ribbentrop advanced, gesturing to the little man to follow him. "This is my interpreter. His name also is Schmidt, as it happens."

"We are a numerous family," said the Doctor gravely.

"Shall I have him translate the message?" asked Ribbentrop.

Hitler nodded. Then he held up his hand. "Let me play the prophet, for once, Herr Doktor. Let me tell you what is in this message. It will be a formal note of protest, concerning my invasion of Poland. They will deplore, they will protest, they will whine, they will plead - but what will they do?

They will do nothing! They did not fight over Czechoslovakia and they will not fight over Poland."

Ribbentrop attempted to speak. "My Fuehrer Hitler waved him to silence.

"The message!"

In a quavering voice the interpreter began to read. "I have the honour to inform you that unless, not later than 11 a.m. today, September 3rd, satisfactory a.s.surances have been given by the German Government that all German troops will be withdrawn from Poland, a state of war will exist between Great Britain and Germany as from that hour."

The Doctor felt a sudden wave of relief. The English had dug in their heels at last. They were going to fight. History was still on course.

There was still time.

6: TIMEWYRM.

Ace took a taxi to the Kurfurstendamm. The driver put her down at the smart end, near the old cathedral. Out of some vague idea of security, she hadn't given the actual street.

A Sunday morning walk was obviously a favourite occupation with Berliners, and the whole area was full of people strolling along the wide pavements, staring in shop windows, having drinks at the pavement cafes.

It looked the way Ace had always imagined Paris. Consulting her map, she.

found that Kronprinzenstra.s.se was off the other end of the Kurfurstendamm, away from the city centre, and as she walked along it, the wide tree-lined boulevard became quieter, less fashionable and more sedate.

Kronprinzenstra.s.se proved to be a quiet old-fashioned street just over a railway bridge. The address she was seeking was a big old house set back from the road. Cautiously Ace went up the path to the front door. To one side of the door was a small bra.s.s plate. Doktor Felix Kriegslieter: Aryan Research Bureau.

Beneath the bra.s.s plate there was something that looked like an extra large bell-push. Ace pushed it without results for a while before she realized you were supposed to pull it. She gave it a good heave, and it came free of its socket revealing a few inches of rusty wire. A bell clanged somewhere in the house, and with surprising speed the door opened - almost as if someone had been waiting for her to arrive.

Not that her reception was encouraging. An extremely unpleasant-looking man peered out at her. Middle-aged and of middle size, he had a high forehead and a perpetually sneering expression.

"Don't you know it's Sunday? We're closed!"

"I've got an invitation," said Ace brightly. She produced the engraved card and held it out.

The man took the card and produced a pair of round gla.s.ses with incredibly thick lenses. Putting them on he peered suspiciously at her. "You're not the Doctor."

"I'm his niece. He was unavoidably detained. He had to go to the Chancellery for a meeting with the Fuehrer," said Ace, feeling a bit of name-dropping couldn't do any harm.

"Doctor Kriegslieter's been called away as well," said the sneering man triumphantly.

"Right then," said Ace. "It's just the two of us then. Any chance of a look round?" The man took off his gla.s.ses and stood quite still for a moment. He might have been listening for messages from outer s.p.a.ce. Then he said, "All right, come in then - if you really want to."

He opened the door and stood aside, beckoning her to enter.

The voice of the interpreter died away, leaving a terrible silence. Adolf Hitler sat quite still, staring into s.p.a.ce. He might have been one of the heroic Fuehrer statues that gazed sternly forward in town squares all over Germany.

He was motionless for what seemed an age. Then, suddenly, he turned to Ribbentrop and shouted, "What now?"

Misunderstanding, Ribbentrop said nervously, "I a.s.sume the French will hand in a similar ultimatum within the hour."

"Get out!" screamed Hitler.

Ribbentrop and the terrified interpreter scuttled for the door. Hitler seemed actually to have shrunk, cowering like a child behind the enormous desk.

He stared at the Doctor with wide, haunted eyes. "They told me the English would not fight," he whispered.

"Who told you? The Black Coven?"

Hitler nodded. "They said it would be easy, like Austria, like Czechoslovakia... What shall I do, Doctor?"

"You must fulfil your destiny."

"My destiny!" repeated Hitler slowly.

The interpreter had left the sheet of paper on the desk. Hitler s.n.a.t.c.hed it up and glared furiously at it. "They dare to send me an ultimatum," he whispered. "Me!" He leapt to his feet and screamed, "I shall destroy them! I shall annihilate their miserable little island - now!" Hitler began pacing to and fro, the rage rising in him like a roaring fire. The rage and the madness.

Unless it was checked, he might do anything. He might break down completely, leaving the war in more capable hands. He might even, thought the Doctor, order an immediate invasion of England - an invasion which might very well succeed.

Hitler glared at the Doctor, the light of madness burning in his eyes. The curtains of the Chancellery were swirling ominously, a vase flew across the room, one of the swastika shields crashed to the floor...

"I shall destroy them all," snarled Hitler. "Everyone, everything shall be destroyed!" There was a strange alien quality to his voice, and there was a silver shimmering around his form.

The Timewyrm, thought the Doctor. He's called up the Timewyrm again.

The Doctor leapt to his feet. Gripping Hitler by the shoulders, he stared deep into those burning eyes, summoning up every ounce of his willpower, forcing his ordered thoughts, his own mental strength into Hitler's confused and seething brain.

"Listen to me, Adolf Hitler," he commanded. "Listen to my voice. There is a great power within you - but it must be controlled or it will destroy you.

Control it now. Control it with your will!"

Hitler stared dazedly back at him. "The will," he muttered. "The will. My will must triumph!" Almost unbelievingly the Doctor saw the madness fade from Hitler's eyes. The storm of psychic energy faded, and the room was calm.

Releasing Hitler's shoulders, the Doctor returned to his chair. A nervous cough came from the far end of the room. The Doctor turned, and saw Martin Bormann standing anxiously in the doorway. Behind him hovered the tall form of von Ribbentrop, and behind him the ma.s.sive bulk of Hermann Goering. The Doctor beckoned, and Bormann, the perfect bureaucrat, trotted across the carpet, a stack of dossiers in his hand. "My apologies, my Fuehrer, but there are a number of urgent matters here which demand your attention. Progress on the Polish front is far from satisfactory, Warsaw has not yet fallen. . ."

Hitler stared fixedly at his faithful servant.

"Only you can ensure victory, my Fuehrer," said Bormann desperately. It was exactly the right thing to say.

"You are right!" Hitler looked at the piece of paper in his hand. "But first, we must deal with this!" He raised his voice. "Send in von Ribbentrop - at once."

Ribbentrop was already on his way. "My Fuehrer?"

"Tell the British Amba.s.sador that this ultimatum cannot be received or accepted - let alone fulfilled!" Hitler crumpled the sheet of paper and tossed it contemptuously on the desk. "Bormann, order my special train. I shall leave for the Polish front immediately, and take personal charge. You will accompany me."

The Doctor slipped quietly out of the room. So far, so good - or so bad, he thought. History was still on its terrible course. World War II was about to begin.

"I'll show you the visitors" library," offered the caretaker. Ace had a moment of worry, as she followed him up the stairs. Was she acting like the daft heroine of some thriller serial, wandering dimly into danger? She told herself there was no need to worry. The Doctor knew where she was - or would as soon as he got back and saw her note - and although he was no great charmer, the sneering man looked harmless enough. The house was rea.s.suringly normal as well. It was a solid, old-fashioned building, spotlessly clean and smelling of lavender furniture polish.

The visitor's library was a huge, incredibly silent room, thickly carpeted, and lined with gla.s.s-fronted bookcases. There were display cases of ancient doc.u.ments scattered about the room, and a big round central table with high-backed chairs ranged round it. In the centre of the table was a huge crystal ball. Maybe they told fortunes on the side.

"There you are, young lady," said the sneering man, who seemed to have turned friendly all of a sudden. "One of the finest collections of Aryan folk material in the country."

"I'm sure it is," said Ace politely.

He moved closer, putting on the thick pebble gla.s.ses again and staring deep into her eyes. "Tell me about your uncle."

"Who?" For a second Ace had forgotten the pretended relationship.

"The Doctor. Your uncle the Doctor. Who is he? Where does he come from? What does he want, here in Germany?"

The pale blue eyes, magnified and distorted by the thick lenses, stared into her own and the questions became more insistent. "Tell me! You must answer... Why is the Doctor here?"

Ace could feel the pressure of his mind battering at her own. But pressure was something Ace had never really cared for it brought out the worst in her. Glaring down at the little man she snapped, "Aren't you being rather rude? If you're so curious about the Doctor you can talk to him yourself. I'm sure he'll be visiting you very soon."

With a gasp the little man stepped back. He took off his gla.s.ses and rubbed his hand over his eyes. "Please forgive me. I have heard so much about this Doctor, you see, naturally I am curious. Please feel free to look round. I must get on with my work. . ." With that he positively shot out of the room.

He was trying to hypnotize me, thought Ace wonderingly. So they must be up to something here. Pleased at having been victorious in the curious little encounter, Ace started to look round. The place certainly didn't look as if it was going to be a bundle of laughs. She could make nothing of the ancient doc.u.ments, which all seemed to be written in some strange runic script.

She opened one of the gla.s.s-fronted bookcases, took out a leather-bound volume and started to read.

It was pretty heavy going at first, but as she realized exactly what she was reading, Ace's blood started coming to the boil. This was racism expressed as a deliberate philosophy. There were pages and pages about the sacred mystique of the pure Aryan blood, and the necessity of keeping it pure and undefiled by "alien sub-species" and "under-men".

Ace tried another volume and found more of the same, endless ranting about blood and honour and the sacred soil of the Fatherland, the need for keeping the Aryan bloodstream of the master race uncontaminated by lesser breeds. The third book she tried had some very nasty stuff about blood sacrifice, and at this point she gave up in disgust.

She had encountered bigotry and racism before, but always in terms of simple brutality, a blow in the face, burning petrol through a letterbox. But to see such ideas written down, not just as an ugly scrawl on a wall somewhere but in books . . . To think that such books could be written, printed, published, a whole library of them, filled her with horror. She looked round the quiet peaceful room, feeling that it was filled with concentrated evil.

Suddenly she heard voices on the stairs. She ran back to the doorway and listened. The bald man was talking to someone down in the hallway.