Doctor Who_ Attack of the Cybermen - Eric Saward [2]
Joe scowled. He didn’t like Charlie very much. But then he didn’t really like anyone.
Not even himself.
Unlike Charlie, Joe had never been to prison, even though the activities of his small backstreet garage were not always within the limits of the law. Whether a car was legal or stolen, Joe could always cope. A quick respray for a doubtful BMW, changing a jag’s chassis and engine numbers, or running an oily rag over a legitimate ten-thousand-mile service, they were all in a day’s work.
The horn sounded yet again.
This time the front door opened and Charlie, now clad in a smart black leather jacket and muffler, stepped out.
Behind him came his mother carrying a multi-coloured golf umbrella. Although Joe couldn’t hear what was said, it was obvious from Charlie’s embarrassed expression that it was being insisted he took the umbrella with him. But instead of accepting it, and quickly getting into the car, he had started to argue, gesturing wildly at the sky, trying to convince his mother that it had stopped raining. These antics disturbed Joe as they were now attracting the amused attention of passers-by.
Quickly he lowered the front passenger-door window.
‘Are you gonna muck about all day?’ His tone was harsh and unfriendly, but it had the desired effect.
Charlie kissed his mother on the cheek, refused the umbrella for the last time and clambered into the car.
‘That was not wise, Charlie,’ muttered Joe, engaging first gear. ‘It’s not good to draw attention to yourself when you’re on a job.’
As the car moved off, Charlie’s mother waved farewell.
Her son, acutely embarrassed, decided not to reciprocate.
He knew what Joe had said was true. Anonymity was vital to the successful criminal. He also knew he couldn’t afford to compound an indiscretion by agreeing. As the muscleman of the team, he had learned that it was more expedient to hide signs of frailty. So instead of attempting to excuse what had happened, Charlie adopted what he considered was a suitably macho expression, and to the sound of the car’s ticking indicator, gazed silently out of the window.
Cautiously, the Granada turned out of Milton Avenue and into slow-moving traffic. Joe cursed at the delay, but Charlie didn’t hear, so intent was he on watching Mr Patel, the owner of his local supermarket, purposefully making his way towards the bank. Charlie wondered how much cash he was carrying in the plastic bag clutched protectively to his chest and whether he made the same journey at a similar time each morning. Charlie would have to have a word with him. Warn him of his folly. As his Ma was an active member of the local Neighbourhood Watch, Charlie felt it was his duty to do so. He didn’t want some part-time thug mugging the owner of his mother’s favourite shop.
Once free of the jam, Joe accelerated hard.
‘What’s the hurry?’
‘Nine minutes behind schedule. And Russell doesn’t like to be kept waiting.’
Charlie let out a grunt of indifference. He didn’t like Vincent Russell. There was something about his aloof, slightly stiff manner that was unpleasantly familiar, almost like that of certain policemen he had known. When Charlie had mentioned his suspicion to Mr Lytton, he had been harshly told to put such stupidity out of his mind. This only made Charlie more determined to learn the truth. If Russell were a policeman, he had considered, why didn’t Lytton want to know?
It was this and other problems that occupied Charlie’s mind as the car sped along the road. Although he didn’t know it at the time, they were really quite trivial to those he was about to face.
Although Lytton and his team had been active for two years, such was their success that the police had remained ignorant of the identities. This would have continued to be the case if they hadn’t broken into an electronics factory engaged in highly secret work for the government and stolen part of a working prototype used to transmit light