Doctor Who_ Father Time - Lance Parkin [64]
The Doctor had circled round to one of the sides of the Tower that didn’t have an entranceway. Then he’d started to climb, as swiftly and silently as he could. He’d counted thirty-three storeys. He wasn’t going to ascend quite that far – he was just looking for the right place.
He peered into the fifth-storey window. A deserted flat.
The window was on a latch, but it was pitifully easy to dislodge it. Evidently, the designers of the building hadn’t thought that anyone would try to force an entry.
The Doctor eased himself through the window, dropped to the floor, as carefully as he could. That done, he tugged the string he’d looped around his wrist, hauling his briefcase up from the ground floor. Once that was safely inside, he slid the window shut.
The room smelled of damp, cigarettes and chip fat. It had been stripped bare by the council, and no squatters had found a use for it since. The Doctor wouldn’t be staying long.
The Doctor put his briefcase down, opened the door a crack and looked out on to the landing. As he suspected, there was a single guard, in the same uniform as the one on the ground floor. This one was facing away from him, peering (a little half-heartedly, the Doctor thought) down the stairs.
The Doctor crept out, up behind the guard, put his neck in an armlock, and kept it there for not a second longer than he had to. The guard was unconscious.
The Doctor dragged him into the room to strip him of his uniform. At first, he was worried the man was too heavy and it would make too much noise, but it was easier than he’d thought.
The Doctor slipped his own coat off, undid the guard’s uniform (an odd type of fastener, a lot like the one some freezer bags had, he noted), and pulled it off. He yanked the helmet off. The guard was a young man, blond.
The Doctor put the uniform and helmet on. There was a belt, too – it had useful things on it like a radio and what looked like a Psion organiser.
He propped up the man by the window, draping his coat over him to keep him warm.
Stepping back on to the landing, the Doctor checked the settings on the guard’s rifle, then fired it a couple of times into the air. As the energy bolts were flying he was already shouting.
‘The Doctor! He’s here! Intruder on the fifth floor!’ The helmet turned his voice into a shrill electronic bark.
He fired a couple more times, then started running around, stomping his feet.
The speed of response was impressive: a guard came running up the stairs, just as another appeared from the floor above.
‘In there!’ the Doctor shouted, ‘I heard him climb in.’
‘You’ve seen him?’
‘I’ve got him pinned down. He’s through that door.’
The two guards levelled their guns and fired. The door burst into splintering slats.
‘He’s there!’ one of the guards shouted, before the dust had settled.
The Doctor winced as they both opened fire on the guard. They sprayed the room, not just the man. The wall behind him cracked and blew out, the window frame crashing down to the ground below. The guard fared no better – three shots to the chest, at least one to the head. The force of the barrage pushed him out of the hole in the wall.
He always seemed to lose his best coats fighting these people.
The Doctor had a momentary panic, but a tap to his trouser pocket assured him that he hadn’t left his car keys in his coat.
Before the guard had hit the ground, the Doctor was already climbing the stairs, two or three at a time. Other guards were coming, paying him little attention as they clambered downstairs, eager to be in on the kill.
An earpiece in his helmet that he hadn’t known was there started to bark instructions at him, helpfully telling him exactly where all the guards were going or heading. The Doctor was sure it was the Deputy giving the orders.
It was a long climb, but he went unchallenged. The upper floors weren’t as well guarded – from the tenth to the twenty-fifth, there was no one. The Doctor guessed there had been about a dozen guards. All military men, all trained to use their equipment. This