Doctor Who: The Enemy of the World (10 page)

‘Stay where you are!’ Bruce snapped. He looked at the three suspects for a moment, thinking back over the incident in the Sanctum with Benik and the documents Salamander had refused to show him.

‘As it happens I am not entirely satisfied with some aspects of the way Salamander runs his organisation,’ he admitted. ‘However, I shall investigate in my own way.’

There was a sudden blur of activity as Astrid grabbed the barrel of the policeman’s pistol and gave it a sharp twist, throwing the unsuspecting officer flat on his face.

Before Bruce could do anything, she had him covered.

‘As head of world security, Mr Bruce, you really should be better protected,’ she said, with a mocking smile.

‘But you’re completely surrounded, you know,’ Bruce laughed patronisingly. ‘You surely don’t imagine I came here with just one man?’

Astrid seemed not to hear. Her eyes were bright with purpose. ‘You’re not going to stop us now we’ve got this far.’

The Doctor held out his hand. ‘May I, Miss Ferrier?’ he requested gently, bowing his head slightly but keeping his eyes level.

Astrid glanced from the Doctor to the pistol she was holding and back again with a baffled frown.

‘Please. You can trust me,’ the Doctor reassured her, taking the gun from her hands, which seemed to make no effort to resist, his eyes fixing hers with a Salamander-like stare.

The others watched in confusion as he pushed the barrel into Donald Bruce’s ribs. ‘Now, Mr Bruce. You admit that at this moment your life is in my hands?’ he murmured.

Bruce said nothing, but licked his dry lips, watching the Doctor like a hawk. There was a long silence.

Then the Doctor suddenly turned the pistol round and offered the butt to Bruce with a smile.

Both Giles and Astrid uttered incredulous gasps and lunged forward to seize the pistol. But Bruce beat them to it. Snatching the gun, he waved it at them at point-blank range.

‘What the hell have you done?’ Kent exploded, grabbing the Doctor’s arm.

‘You fool!’ Astrid spat at him. ‘You fool!’

The Doctor shook his head, with an enigmatic smile.

‘Don’t worry my friends. Mr Bruce is not going to shoot us, are you, Bruce?’

The air was electric with tension and uncertainty as Giles and Astrid glanced from the Doctor to Donald Bruce, trying to fathom what was going on.

At last Bruce broke the silence. ‘Why did you do that?’

‘Because I think you are an honest and reasonable man,’

the Doctor replied simply. ‘Because I trust you and I want you to trust me.’

Bruce studied him for a while. ‘What do you expect to gain from this... this gesture?’ he asked.

‘Your confidence and your cooperation, Mr Bruce.’

Giles and Astrid exchanged despairing glances. It was almost as if Salamander himself were standing there and calmly wrecking their plans in front of their eyes.

‘You propose that I investigate Kent’s accusations against the Leader by helping you to get into the Centre disguised as Salamander,’ he said slowly, as if he were reading a description of the fantastic scheme out of a book.

The Doctor nodded eagerly.

Bruce considered for a moment. ‘And what if there is no evidence to substantiate these charges?’ he asked.

‘Then you will be free to arrest us,’ the Doctor replied.

‘And to send us for trial, naturally,’ he added.

Bruce glanced doubtfully at Giles and at Astrid. Then he suddenly seemed to shake his bulky frame into action.

‘Very well, Doctor, but on one condition,’ he agreed. ‘Kent and Miss Ferrier stay here as hostages. You and I go alone.’

As the Doctor nodded his assent, Giles erupted violently. ‘Now wait!’ he shouted. ‘I’m not going to be held as any hostage. I must go with you.’

‘Otherwise it’s no deal,’ Astrid added vehemently.

The Doctor raised his hands and bowed his head in an appeal for calm. He turned to Giles and Astrid. ‘If I am going to undertake this task, you must cooperate with Mr Bruce,’ he told them firmly.

Bruce handed the pistol to his officer, who had observed everything in total confusion. ‘Watch them,’ he ordered.

‘But if they know what’s good for them, they shouldn’t cause you any trouble.’

The two hostages watched in sullen silence as the Doctor gave his hair a final sleek behind his ears. He fished around in his pockets for his clasp and pinned it in place under his chin. Then he buttoned the jacket they had found for him and spent a few seconds choosing some rings from a box of old theatrical jewellery on the table.

Finally he turned to Giles and Astrid and said in his chilling Salamander voice, ‘Remain here until I return, my friends, and all will be well.’ He grimaced like a melodrama villain and waggled his beringed fingers at them mischievously.

They stared impassively back at the clowning figure, while the police officer looked stunned. Donald Bruce shook his head in admiration. ‘I must be out of my mind to trust you,’ he muttered. ‘I only hope you can fool Benik with this caper. If he sees through you, then we’re all of us finished...’

Meanwhile, sixty metres beneath the Kanowa Research Centre the capsule slid gently down to rest at the bottom of its shaft. Salamander opened the transparent shield and stepped out into the quietly humming Control Suite. This time he had not bothered to wear the protective suit. He went straight to the observation window and made an announcement on the tannoy.

‘Salamander to Swann. I have returned. Routine radiation precautions are in force. Fresh supplies are coming down on the conveyor. Detail personnel to unload and then report progress on schedule seven.’

Swann selected several technicians and led them over to a large perspex-fronted hatch set into the rocky wall of the chamber. They pulled on thick protective gloves and waited, watching the liquid crystal digital display fitted beside the hatch, as a large packing-case slowly descended into the bay behind the shield. A buzzer sounded and the radiation counter flickered up a series of red numbers. A pinkish glow filled the bay and after a while the numbers blinked into green and the glow faded.

Swann watched while the technicians opened the hatch, manhandled the crate onto a low trolley and then closed the shield again to wait for the next consignment. Then he walked briskly through the chamber, stopping at various sections to make checks and collect data on schedule seven.

When he reached Colin Redmayne and Mary Smith’s section, Colin seized his arm and pulled him close so that he could whisper in his ear. ‘Swann, have you ever wondered what would happen if Salamander failed to come back one day?’ he muttered furtively.

Swann ran his practised eye over their data print-outs.

‘I’ve warned you about this kind of subversive talk, Redmayne,’ he murmured. ‘It isn’t healthy.’

When Swann had moved on, Colin leaned on the instrument panel, head in hands. ‘That’s right. Don’t think. Just work. Eat—when there’s enough to go round.

Sleep. Blind worms under the earth, wriggling without purpose,’ he murmured savagely.

Mary moved beside him. ‘Swann daren’t let people think, Colin,’ she said quietly. ‘If he did, then they’d begin to...’

‘That is the beginning of the end,’ he retorted. He thumped the computer console. ‘What
is
all this? What are we doing down here? I have to go. To see for myself, Mary.

And I will,’ he breathed.

Swann had stopped by the conveyor hatch and was running his eye over the growing stack of crates on the trolley. Noticing a scrap of paper sticking out from under one of the smaller cases, he bent down and pulled it out.

He was about to screw it up and toss it into a nearby disposal shute when something caught his eye and made him look again. He remained a long time staring at it, his eyes repeatedly going out of focus and looking through the faded words and then focussing on them again.

Eventually Swann began to wander slowly towards the staircase in the corner of the laboratory. As he passed her, Mary Smith reported that her section was now back to normal operating power, but Swann walked by without a word, like a sleepwalker, bumping into people and equipment, and ignoring questions.

Salamander released the electric locks and Swann walked into the Control Suite.

‘Thank you, Mr Swann. Just leave the data there. I shall run through it later,’ Salamander murmured without looking up.

Swann let the heavy clipboard fall onto the console with a crash and stood there silently.

Salamander stiffened and glanced sharply up at him. ‘Is something wrong, Mr Swann?’ he exclaimed, a diamond-hard edge in his voice.

‘What... what’s this... this...’ Swann whispered almost inaudibly, the damp piece of newspaper lying limply in his hands. ‘Look at the
date
!’ His voice had abruptly changed to a shrill scream. He was trembling violently and the scrap of newspaper was already beginning to disintegrate in his feverish grasp. ‘North American Zone Bulletin,’ he shrieked, ‘dated not two months ago. And it says... it says...’

Salamander took the flimsy scrap of paper and stared at the blurred headline. FREAK TIDAL WAVE SINKS

CARIBBEAN CRUISEFOIL: 500 VACATIONERS

MISSING.

‘Just a few weeks ago, a cruise ship full of holiday-makers,’ Swann cried frenziedly. ‘How, Salamander? How?

What about the radiation, the poisoned air, the devastation? What about the war?’

Keeping his shocked and worried face averted, Salamander desperately tried to think, while Swann followed him about, babbling hysterically. ‘Lies. Just lies.

You’ve kept us all down here and deceived us all these years. Why. What for?’

‘I had to Swann!’ Salamander suddenly cried, turning on him violently. ‘It was necessary.’

Swann stared at him incredulously. ‘But
why
?’ he breathed.

Salamander shuddered and passed his hand across his eyes. ‘The war is over up there, that is true,’ he said wearily. ‘But have you any idea what happens to people in chemical and nuclear warfare, Swann?’

‘How could I?’ Swann shouted. ‘I’ve been down here in this damned cage!’

‘The survivors are eaten away in body and in mind, Swann. They have a kind of society, but corrupt and violent. The normal human values are destroyed. Members of the same family kill one another for food.’

‘But that report... the holiday cruise in the Caribbean...’

‘Propaganda,’ Salamander shrugged. ‘A subtle attempt to persuade the survivors that their tyrannical rulers are succeeding in building a normal world again. But it is a jungle of nightmares up there, Swann. Do you imagine I could ever allow you all to be exposed to its evils?’

Swann slowly sat down. He seemed to have grown calmer as he listened to Salamander’s horrific description of the world above them.

‘You could have told me at least,’ he said quietly when Salamander had finished.

‘It has been hard to bear such a secret, Swann. But I dare not take the risk of jeopardising our work here.’

Swann pondered a moment. ‘Our work here,’ he murmured at last. ‘The volcanoes, the earthquakes, the floods—what is the purpose of all this?’

Salamander sat down opposite him and looked earnestly into his eyes. ‘To eliminate the sick and perverted rabble that have survived the holocaust up there. I wish for you and the others, all of us here, to inherit the Earth and create a new world, Swann,’ he said fervently.

‘But that’s murder. It’s genocide!’ Swann cried, horrified.

‘No, it is an act of mercy. I promise you.’

Swann was silent for a while. Then he rose and stood over Salamander. ‘Your promises are no longer enough. I want to see for myself.’

Slowly Salamander got to his feet. ‘My friend, you will not survive the horror, the sudden exposure to radiation. It is terribly dangerous.’

But Swann stood his ground. ‘Take me to the surface, or I shall reveal what you have told me to the others,’ he retorted.

Salamander was disconcerted by the sudden strength in Swann’s manner. He looked at his chief technician for some time, while a plan formed in the dark recesses of his mind.

Eventually he nodded. ‘Very well, Swann, I agree to your demand. But you do this at your own risk,’ he said harshly. ‘I cannot accept responsibility for your safety.’

8

Victoria regained consciousness first. Jamie came to on the stretcher beside hers with a parched groan. ‘Where are we?’

he croaked, staring round at the sinister pieces of apparatus lining the walls.

‘You are in the Behaviour Analysis Unit of the Kanowa Research Centre,’ Benik informed them as he hurried in, followed by an armed security guard, who closed the door and stood in front of it.

‘Who are you?’ Jamie asked disinterestedly.

‘I ask the questions,’ Benik said ‘and I get all the answers I want.’

‘Not from me you won’t,’ Jamie said, tottering to his feet.

Benik uttered a shriek of laughter. ‘Good. Good, I like that. You have spirit, boy. That makes my task much more rewarding.’ He gestured at the menacing devices surrounding them.

Jamie was hobbling painfully about as if something were wrong with his leg. Suddenly he straightened up, driving his fist into the guard’s stomach like a steam-hammer. The guard crumpled in half and slumped to the floor. Jamie was about to seize the gun, when a terrified scream made him spin round. Benik had his arm round Victoria’s neck and he was holding a pistol to her head. Her face was a mask of horror. For a second it looked as if Jamie intended to launch himself at her assailant, but he stopped himself and stood there helplessly, staring at Benik.

Benik ran the barrel of his pistol through Victoria’s long, thick hair. ‘Such pretty hair,’ he breathed, his face glowing with sweat as he leaned closer and closer towards her pale cheek.

‘All right,’ Jamie gasped, unable to hold back any longer. ‘Leave her alone. What do you want to know?’

Very slowly and deliberately, Benik twisted the pistol barrel tighter and tighter into Victoria’s hair, not taking his eyes off Jamie’s tortured face for a moment. ‘Now, who put you up to all this nonsense. Giles Kent?’ he demanded scornfully.