Doctor Who_ Trading Futures Part 29

'Dee does. I mean I don't know Chinese. But the only name I've ever been given is Dee. And that could be a Chinese name.'

Dee buried her head in her hands. 'It's possible to have too low a profile,' she told Baskerville.

Baskerville reached out and adjusted a control. 'I've had enough of this.'

Anji sat in her chair, watched the news on the small television screen set in the table.

Footage of Mather entering the Green Hotel, three hours before (it felt a lot longer). There was still no sign of the President, who the network felt should have made a statement about the Tripoli shootings.

The network had concluded that the President was in his hotel room, unwilling to face the anti*American and anti*war demonstrators who'd congregated outside.

It was a little surreal to have him sitting alongside her, watching the news reports.

'Never believe what you download off the datanet,' he told her in that rich voice of his.

'Do your people know where you are?'

'Yes.'

'Some sort of homing device?' Cosgrove asked.

'Nanotech. One of my eyebrows, apparently. I don't know which one. I've often tried to spot it.'

Anji tried not to stare at them.

'Advanced stuff,' Cosgrove said, admiringly. 'Does it help us at all?'

'It means they know where I am.'

'We're on the Russian Steppes. I don't think the USAF make house calls here.'

'They will to protect their President.'

'Where are they?' Anji asked.

'On their way,' the President insisted. 'Concorde's fast, and the jets will be coming from the Gulf.'

'We could take Baskerville's time machine by force.'

Mather nodded.

'Would you be able to operate it?' Anji asked them.

'You seem very chummy with him,' Cosgrove suggested.

'No,' she said simply. 'Just keen to stay alive.'

Cosgrove raised an eyebrow. 'Who are you? If you don't mind me asking.'

'She's a friend of the Doctor,' Mather replied.

'And that's an explanation?' Cosgrove asked.

'It's a pretty good indication we won't get an explanation. Cosgrove, what time is it?'

'You're wearing a watch.'

'I know. Look at the news.'

'And there's a clock on the screen... and both this and the watch are showing the right time.'

Anji took a deep breath. 'If you two just said what you meant, instead of talking in secret code all the time...'

'Toronto,' Mather said.

Cosgrove raised an eyebrow. 'Yes. Toronto.'

Anji peered at the screen. It looked more like Tripoli to her. The same pictures of the school bus they'd had on before.

'You're still doing it,' she told them.

'A news blackout?' Cosgrove suggested.

'In the land of the free?'

'In a Commonwealth nation, old chap.'

'Trust me, if there was a nuclear explosion in the same hemisphere hemisphere as the US, there wouldn't be anything else on the news.' as the US, there wouldn't be anything else on the news.'

'Nuclear explosion?' Anji asked, trying to piece all this together. 'The Fourth Prophecy?' she guessed, suddenly.

'Yes.'

'And it's not happened?'

'No.'

Cosgrove stroked his chin. 'Which rather makes me wonder why Baskerville got it wrong.'

Fitz sauntered towards the EMP cannon maintenance duct, trying to act like he owned the place. Every so often, when he was sure no one was looking, he'd sneak a glance at the plan of the ship Pad was displaying.

He had pa.s.sed a couple of Onihrs along the way, and they'd looked him up and down, but not tried to stop him.

The ship was huge. He guessed it was about a dozen miles long, about as wide, about as tall. The size of a vast city, even bearing in mind its inhabitants were twice as big as people.

His legs were getting a bit stiff now he'd walked halfway down the ship. He shouldn't have asked Pad where to go he should have just guessed it was as far as physically possible from where he'd been. The gravity seemed to be getting bigger. Or stronger. Heavier. Whatever the word was.

Up in s.p.a.ce, there was no way of telling what time it was. His watch was broken probably during the good kicking that old bloke had given him in America, just before he'd been brought here.

The walk was a good chance to have a good think. It wasn't helping though his best plan was still to sabotage the EMP cannon and slow down the Onihrs' invasion of Earth.

'Doctor,' a growling voice barked from behind him.

'Er, yes?' said Fitz, stopping in his tracks.

'The deputy leader requires you on the control gallery.'

Fitz groaned and turned round.

He could see almost all the way back to the gallery from here. It wasn't quite a straight line the transparent corridors wove in and out of the superstructure of the ship. But he could see the route he'd taken.

Five miles. Six, probably. Maybe seven. With all that weaving, it was quite possibly eight miles.

'Doctor,' the Onihr asked. 'Where were you heading?'

'Er... just taking a walk.'

'A walk? An odd alien custom.'

'You're the one with all the corridors, mate.' Fitz scolded himself for using the word 'mate'. It wasn't very Doctorish, was it?

'These are mainly used by the maintenance robots,' the Onihr told him. 'We teleport all but the shortest of distances.'

Fitz looked down at Pad, sighed.

'Er... I have a control box, but I think it's broken.'

'May I?'

The Onihr took it in one huge paw. 'No look, it's just a question of...' he tapped the third b.u.t.ton, then the second, then the fourth, and they were on the control gallery.

The Onihr pa.s.sed the control box back to Fitz.

'Cheers,' Fitz said.

The deputy leader was wearing an ornate black and gold suit of armour. It looked practical b.l.o.o.d.y practical, actually but Fitz got the idea it was at least partly ceremonial. It was dripping with fragrant oils. It was overpowering, visually and nasally.

'Dressed to impress,' Fitz said cheerfully.

'I shall lead the delegation to Earth,' the Onihr announced.

'Doing a deal?'

'Yes.'

'Need any help?' It was a cheap way to get back home, Fitz thought.

'No, Doctor, you shall remain here.'

'I know the, er, humans. I could help you get what you want.'

'If the human does not give me time travel, I shall tear its head off and take time travel for myself. Then I shall raze all the cities of the Earth.'

Fitz smiled affably. 'OK. Er... good luck.'

Relker was getting cold, waiting. Night would be falling soon. The shadows were long, the air was getting a tang of cold. Even on a summer's night, it would be bitter. Oleson was standing next to him, already shifting from one foot to the other and rubbing his hands together.

The Concorde had been sitting on the runway for an hour, now. The stand off was absurd. Whatever the plane was coated with was thick enough to block IR scans of the interior, but there were a few windows, and the spotters around the plane had been watching, doing a headcount. There were hardly any people on board the pilot, the man who claimed to be Baskerville, his a.s.sistant (who claimed to be Dee) and no more than four or five people in the main cabin.

Even just using the men out here on the runway, they could storm the plane and take it in moments.

Relker was unsure what Baskerville was waiting for. Or, for that matter, who the people on the Concorde were, or why they were here. They knew all about the operation here. But if it was one of the Russian governments cracking down, they'd have sent tanks. The Americans or Eurozone would send helicopters.

The Trojan Horse. That's the image that kept coming back to Relker. They whoever they they were had sent the Concorde simply to baffle him. They'd landed it here, made him and his men waste valuable time and energy wondering what on earth it was here for. were had sent the Concorde simply to baffle him. They'd landed it here, made him and his men waste valuable time and energy wondering what on earth it was here for.

A Eurozone plane (a retired Eurozone plane, but don't dwell on that), adapted using state of the art American stealth technology. Containing a man claiming to be their boss, who claimed bizarrely that he had the President of the United States on board, when anyone with a newsfeed knew the President was in a hotel in Istanbul.

Shoot them all and let G.o.d sort them out. That was Relker's preferred option.

A RealWar cla.s.s two slid easily from the main building. The hover tank. Hovercraft technology had suddenly come back into vogue, with the development of new materials. This didn't look like a weapon at all, it looked like a sculpture it was smooth chrome, all sleek curves. He saw the Concorde, the evening sky, even himself and his men reflected against its metal surface.

The gun ports opened, all three cannons emerged.

Baskerville was making a move. Relker wished he'd been consulted first.

He reached for his radio. 'Baskerville, what's the HT for?'

Nothing.

Relker was reaching down for his gun when the Hovertank started firing at his men. Some of the idiots were standing up, to see what the noise was. Others had their heads down, and those were the ones who weren't killed instantly.

The tank moved methodically forwards. His men should know better than to take it on even if their bullets got past the armour, the chances of hitting a vital component were ridiculously small.

Hopefully someone had got a jammer on them, or something that could cut the command signal.

'Baskerville?'

Oleson was looking over at him, also puzzled. 'What the h.e.l.l is it doing?' he asked.

'Baskerville's not in his office.

'If he's controlling that, he must be. Or someone must be. It's the only teletroop hub in the complex.'