Doctor Who_ Illegal Alien - Mike Tucker [3]
McBride woke with the worst hangover of his life. There was a thump in his head that threatened to break his skull, and his mouth felt as though he had a sock in it. He drew in a ragged breath and gagged. The stench of stale whisky clung to him like a cloud.
Tentatively he forced his crusted eyes apart. It was morning. Not long after dawn. The sun was creeping up over the landscape of devastated buildings and, although the light was nowhere near as bright as the previous night, it still took McBride a few minutes before he could see without his eyes streaming.
In front of him the sphere sat in its crater, now two neat hollow hemispheres. He heard rubble shift and the crunch of footsteps on gravel. He tried to sit up and immediately regretted it. With a groan he slumped back on to the pile of brickwork where he had fallen and twisted his head to try to identify the source of the footsteps. A man was picking his way over the rubble towards him. His attention was fixed firmly on the sphere, barely aware of McBride's presence.
McBride frowned. The man was in his late fifties, smartly dressed with an expensive briefcase clutched in his hand. He was also absolutely terrified. McBride shifted slightly and the man turned towards him with a start, noticing him for the first time. The man raised a hand and gestured towards the sphere, his mouth moving but no sounds emerging. McBride tried again to sit up but the blinding pain in his skull proved too much for him.
The pain became marginally worse as the sound of police cars cut through the silence. McBride watched as two uniformed policemen, tin helmets slung at their belts, grasped the businessman by the arms and swiftly escorted him to one side.
A figure in plain clothes brown overcoat and bowler hat entered McBride's frame of vision. He groaned and let his eyes shut. Mullen. Of all the strange, glowing, flyingspherefilled bomb craters in all the world, Mullen had to walk into his.
'Morning, McBride. First on the scene again I see.'
Mullen sniffed the air, his nose wrinkling at the overpowering smell of whisky. 'Your aftershave's getting cheaper.'
'Yeah, so are your gags. Give me a hand up here.'
McBride held out his arm and Mullen hauled him to his feet, steadying the American as he swayed uneasily. Mullen was a large man. A thickset, sardonic Irishman, and a chief inspector in Special Branch. He and McBride had crossed paths on more than one occasion and there was no love lost between them. Mullen didn't like private detectives in general and this one in particular. He didn't care much for IrishAmericans either Fenian to man. As for Cody McBride, he just wished Mullen would give him a break once in a while.
Two stretcherbearers clambered over the piles of brickwork and were beckoned over by Mullen. McBride shook himself free of the chief inspector's grip.
'I don't need one of those things. I'm fine. I'm OK.'
He picked his hat up off the floor and dusted it down. On the roadway a couple of policemen were struggling to keep back the evergrowing crowd of public and pressmen.
McBride could see the businessman watching him through terrified eyes. No, not him. The sphere. Mullen had crossed to the sphere and was peering inside. McBride stumbled over to him. The interior of the thing was not round, but contoured and ridged. Of the figure that McBride had seen briefly in the night, there was no sign. Mullen looked at him sternly. 'Any comment, McBride?' McBride rubbed his scalp and jammed his hat on to his head, shielding his eyes from the low sun.
'No, but if you find out anything, let me know. I'm going home.' He turned to go, but the chief inspector caught the sleeve of his coat. 'Oh, no. You're up to your bloodshot eyeballs in this one, McBride. You're coming down to the