The noise grew louder and suddenly a small covered truck swung recklessly round a bend and sped up behind them. The Doctor grabbed his friends and scampered into the hedge, urgently signalling with his cocked thumb. The truck braked fiercely and lurched to a halt some distance further on, its diesel racing impatiently.
Straightening his rumpled collar and sagging cravat, the Doctor scuttled round to the driver's door. 'Good day, sir, I wonder if you could help us...?' he began.
The young ginger-haired driver wearing sweat-stained teeshirt and oily jeans shot him a frightened glance. 'Are you trying to get out?' he shouted.
'Actually we wish to go in... to London,' smiled the Doctor.
'Get in quick.'
'Oh, that's most civil of you...' bowed the Doctor.
'Shut up and get in,' yelled the driver, revving the hot smoking engine.
Seconds later the bewildered trio were jammed into the noisy cab and being flung violently around as the truck roared through the twisting lanes. After a few kilometres the driver swung the truck abruptly onto a deeply-rutted cart track which bounced them sickeningly into a small shady wood.
Killing the engine, he jumped out. 'Get away from the truck!'
he shouted, diving into the tangled undergrowth.
Totally mystified, the Doctor led his young companions in pursuit. They soon found the driver crouching in the bushes, wiping his freckled lace with a rag.
'Is something wrong?' asked the Doctor gently, crouching beside him.
'Company Security are on my tail,' he gasped.
'What company?' Zoe demanded.
The driver gave her a sarcastic grin. 'There's only one Company isn't there, miss?'
The Doctor motioned the others to keep quiet. 'I'm sorry, but we're strangers here,' he explained.
The young man looked incredulous. 'Strangers? You mean you're not from the Community?' he muttered after a pause.
They all shook their heads.
'Then how the hell did you get into the compound?'
The Doctor smiled enigmatically. 'That's a long story, I'm afraid.'
Zoe glanced around uneasily. 'What's this compound? Are we prisoners here or something?'
The driver leaned closer. 'Those who haven't gone over to the Company are. Course, not officially. They just make it rather difficult if you don't have a pass,' he confided.
Jamie's clear blue eyes narrowed. 'What about yerself?'
The fugitive listened a moment and then grinned bleakly. 'I managed to get in all right. Getting out again's the problem now.'
The Doctor frowned suspiciously. 'This company you mentioned... What does it do exactly?' he inquired.
The young man stared at the strangers in disbelief.
'International Electromatix, of course. You must know about them.
They've got a world monopoly in electronic equipment. They...'
The approaching howl of powerful motorcycle engines suddenly silenced him. Turning pale, he dragged the odd trio deeper into the thicket. They waited, scarcely breathing. Then all at once they glimpsed a flash of gleaming metal and bright black leather as two motorbikes zipped past the end of the cart track.
When all was quiet again, their rescuer continued. 'They've set up a whole Community of their own... research facilities, factories...
housing complexes... inside a network of compounds. Most of the locals joined the Company.'
'What about the ones who didn't?' murmured Zoe.
'My people haven't been able to trace them.'
'Your people...?' the Doctor cut in sharply, eyes widening.
The driver bit his dry lips, regretting his careless remark.
Cautiously he stood up. 'Should be safe now,' he told them. 'You three'd better keep out of sight in the back. I'll try and bluff our way out.'
A short drive through peacefully deserted countryside brought them to a high chainlink fence, slung between steel posts and topped with several strands of wicked-looking barbed wire, stretching into the distance in both directions. Electric gates barred the road. A heavily armed security guard strode out from the squat concrete blockhouse. He was dressed in a black uniform of thick glossy material with gauntlets, high boots and a ridged steel helmet incorporating a dark visor beneath which only his thin-lipped mouth was visible. On the front of his helmet was a silver insignia representing a zig-zag of lightning in the grip of a clenched glove.
The guard's faceless mask bulbously reflected the driver's pale smile as he showed his pass. The guard stared into the cab and then marched round to look in the back. He glanced at the stacks of papier-mâché trays and slammed the doors. The gates whirred open and the truck drove through.
It was barely out of sight before two similar guards riding huge motorcycles skidded to a stop just as the gates were closing. Jumping off they ran towards the blockhouse, leaving the massive engines throbbing in anticipation.
Huddled among the trays of eggs the three friends heaved a sigh of relief at their narrow escape, but their euphoria was short-lived. After a few minutes the truck shuddered to a halt again and the driver's frightened grey eyes peered through the shutter from the cab.
'They're right behind us. Get out here and you'll find the London road about five kilometres due east,' he shouted above the clattering diesel.
Muttering their gratitude the trio jumped out of the back and fought their way painfully through the tall prickly hedge just as the two motorbikes roared round a bend and coasted up behind the truck.
Led by the Doctor, they set off for dear life across the fields in search of the main road.
'What's that?' Zoe gasped, as a dull thundering sound suddenly started up behind them.
'Don't even ask,' panted the Doctor without glancing round. 'I think it's a bull.'
One security guard searched the truck while the other glanced cursorily at the driver's pass.
'You come back with us,' he ordered.
'What for? The pass is okay,' protested the driver. The other guard strode up shaking his head. 'Nothing,' he snapped.
'Turn round!' rapped the first guard.
The driver refused. You can't force me back into the compound.'
The next moment he flinched as a cold pistol barrel was shoved against his temple. 'We're not on International Electromatix property now,' he persisted, defiantly slipping the truck into gear.
'You've got no authority out here.'
The safety catch clicked off.
'You want me, arrested, you get the police!' he shouted, revving the engine.
The next moment half the driver's head had been blown off all over the inside of the cab. The truck lurched forward and then toppled sideways into the ditch. A stack of papier-mache trays crashed through the open back doors and hundreds of vivid yellow egg yolks started merging and congealing on the hot black tar.
Intermittent spots of rain were falling from the overcast London sky as the Doctor led Zoe and Jamie up the steps of a tall terraced house with flaking pillared porch in Bayswater. Tired and hungry, they stared gloomily at the nameplate above the bell-push.
'That's odd,' frowned the Doctor. It says "Professor Watkins".'
He shrugged and pressed the button. 'Still, the telephone directory said number thirteen...'
'It would!' Zoe grumbled, scowling up at the tarnished chrome 13 on the door.
They waited. The Doctor rang again and peered through the frosted glass panes.
'Och, dinna tell me we've come all this way for nothing,' Jamie mumbled dejectedly.
Just then a distorted white shape appeared behind the glass and the door was flung open.
'I happen to be
trying
to work.' The tall girl turned on her heel and stalked off down the bare shabby hall, leaving them stranded on the doorstep.
The Doctor cleared his throat politely. 'I'm so sorry, miss...
We're looking for Professor Travers...' He motioned the others to follow him and ventured after her.
They found the girl in a large high-ceilinged room which was virtually empty except for several powerful lamps on stands scattered about and an expensive camera mounted on a tripod. Huge blown-up photographs, mostly of the girl herself, were pinned haphazardly around the white walls.
'And now the beastly thing's jammed!' snapped the girl, fiddling angrily with the camera shutter. She was taller than Zoe, with long fair hair, wide mouth and high cheekbones. Her dazzling dress was cut well above the knee and her shapely legs were clad in stylish knee-length boots.
'Perhaps I can mend it for you?' the Doctor suggested, wincing at the colourful geometrical pattern on her dress.
'It was on automatic shutter.'
'I see,' smiled the Doctor. 'Taking pictures of yourself?'
'Until you interrupted me. Then it stuck.'
The Doctor examined the camera while Zoe glanced at the photographs admiringly and Jamie gaped open-mouthed at the flamboyant figure as she re-arranged her hair in a huge mirror propped against the ornate mantelpiece.
'By the way, if you've come to see my uncle he's not here,' the girl informed them abruptly. 'I presume you're another nut, a fellow boffin,' she said disapprovingly, glancing at the Doctor's dishevelled reflection.
'I'm seeking Professor Travers's help,' murmured the Doctor, poking thoughtfully at the camera's mechanism with his penknife.
'Travers has gone to the States for a year with his daughter,'
shrugged the girl.
Jamie nudged Zoe irritably. 'Och, another wild-goose chase,'
he muttered bitterly.
The girl glared at the wild-looking young Highlander and then went on. 'My uncle - Professor Watkins - wanted to do some secret work and Professor Travers said he could use the lab in the basement here.' The girl elbowed Jamie out of the way and adjusted one of the lamps. 'I moved in because I was kicked out of my studio last week.'
'A'm no surprised,' Jamie mumbled darkly to himself.
The Doctor tested the shutter a few times. 'What field of science does your uncle work in?' he asked.
The girl grimaced and shook her head. 'He messes about with computers all the time. Complete nutter.'
'How very fortunate,' smiled the Doctor, handing her the camera. 'Professor Watkins may be able to help us. Is he at home?'
The girl shook her head. 'Fixed it? Great. Thanks.'
'Where is your uncle?' demanded Zoe impatiently.
The girl rounded on her irritably. 'How should I know? I'm not his keeper.' Suddenly her expression changed and she peered at Zoe through the viewfinder. 'Hey... Dolly gear!' she exclaimed delightedly.
The Doctor ruffled his hair in confusion. 'Who's Dolly Gear?'
he inquired.
'Want to pose for me?' the girl chattered on, pushing Zoe in front of the lamps. 'Now throw your arms up and bend at the knees...
Head back a bit...'
Rather resentfully Zoe tried to do as she was bidden, while Jamie watched with a satirical grin.
'Well, miss...' the Doctor persevered.
'Isobel,' the girl replied, her motorised shutter whizzing off shots of Zoe in quick succession.
'Isobel. Do you know when your uncle will return?'
'Nope. He left about a week ago. Haven't seen him since...'
Isobel replied vaguely, manoeuvering Zoe into a different pose as if she were a mannequin. 'He was raving on about some new process these people wanted him to develop.'
The Doctor was restlessly tapping the two faulty circuits in his coat pocket 'Can't we get in touch with him, my dear?' he pleaded. 'It is rather urgent.'
'I tried the other day. They said he couldn't take any phone calls.'
'Who did?'
'Oh... International something,' muttered Isobel, clicking away again, as Zoe began to enjoy her new role as model.
'International Electromatix?' Jamie suggested.
Isobel ignored him. 'The number's scribbled on the wall above the phone. By the stairs.'
The Doctor heaved an enormous sigh of relief, thankful to have got sornewhere at last. With Jamie close on his heels, he hurried out.
Zoe made as if to follow them.
'Don't move,' cried Isobel, still snapping away. 'You're a natural. I don't often get the chance to photograph a real model. Too expensive.'
Flattered, Zoe lingered on. Then Isobel paused and led her over to a battered old wicker skip.
'Let's find you some different gear,' she laughed.
Jamie stared at the hieroglyphic maze of names and numbers scrawled on the wall behind the telephone while the Doctor dialled.
'Suppose this is the same organisation the truck driver was telling us about,' he whispered. 'Perhaps the Professor's been...'
The Doctor nodded grimly. Then he suddenly flinched as a harsh metallic female voice rasped in the earpiece.
'International Electromatix. State your business.'
'I wish to speak to Professor Watkins please,' requested the Doctor.
There was a brief pause.
'Party not available,' grated the voice.
'It is rather important,' continued the Doctor courteously.
'Perhaps I could leave a...'
'Party not available... Party not available...'
'Oh, fiddlesticks!' hissed the Doctor, slamming down the receiver. 'It's the curse of the Technological Age, Jamie. A robot answering machine.'
'I don't think you'll get any joy!' Isobel yelled from the other room.
Jamie sent a murderous look down the hall. 'What now, Doctor?' he asked dejectedly.
The Doctor rubbed his hands together expectantly. 'Nothing for it, Jamie. We'll have to pay International Electromatix a little visit.'
Returning to the makeshift studio, they found Zoe decked out in long curving eyelashes and a fluffy feather boa posing extravagantly in the glaring lights.
Jamie burst out laughing. 'Och, lassie, ye look like a wee chicken wi' all those feathers,' he roared.
Zoe took no notice. 'Any luck, Doctor?' she asked hopefully.
The Doctor shook his head. 'We shall have to go there in person I'm afraid, my dear.'