Doctor Who_ Illegal Alien - Mike Tucker [69]
The harsh, mechanical voice of a Cyberman made them both start. Potter pressed himself into the shadows between the tracks. This was it. His chance for freedom. His chance for glory. The waiting Cybermen were forcing the others through the ragged hole in the tunnel wall. Wilkins hurried over, waiting for Potter to be discovered, waiting for the crackle of that terrible gun. His heart pounded as the terrible blank gaze of the Cyberman swept down the tunnel, then he was pushed into the deep blackness of the sewers, the giant figure squeezing itself through the hole after him.
Potter breathed a sigh of relief. It had worked. He hadn't been spotted. He waited a while longer, lying quietly in the gloom, waiting for any sign that the Cybermen had missed him. Once he was sure that he was safe, he clambered to his feet and made his way to the hole that had been torn into the brickwork. He peered inside, the smell of the sewers almost making him retch. He could hear distant footsteps, distant sobs.
He turned back to the tube tunnels with grim determination. If only he hadn't dropped his torch. Still, no matter. His eyes would soon become accustomed to the dark. It may not be the Hun that he was fighting, but Colonel T.P. Potter (retired) was going to show what he was made of.
Hands outstretched, feeling his way along the grimeencrusted wall, he began to make his way down the tunnel.
'This is going to work! Goddamn it, this is actually going to work.' 'Shut up, McBride,' Mullen hissed into his ear.
'Prisoners aren't meant to talk to their escorts.' 'Be quiet, both of you, we've got company.' The Doctor nodded at a group of pinstriped officials who had just appeared at the far end of the corridor. Mullen prodded McBride in the back with the snout of his Webley, and the trio of chief inspector, private detective and Time Lord made their way towards the main doors. They were given a curious glance by the men approaching them, and McBride could feel sweat prickling on his scalp, but as soon as they saw the gun in the hand of the chief inspector they scurried off, not wishing to get involved with what were, quite obviously, dangerous criminals.
McBride had been expecting the alarm to sound at any time in the last few minutes, ever since they had stepped from outside their cell, in fact. Mullen had considered the Doctor's plea for freedom, pulled his gun from his holster, then called for the guard outside the cell door. The young corporal had been very unsure about releasing his prisoners into Mullen's custody, but the big Irishman had launched into a terrible temper, towering over the soldier, demanding to know what right he had to obstruct the course of justice. He had pointed out, quite reasonably, McBride thought, that if the prisoners were in all likelihood to be executed, it was vital that the police obtain a full statement about the particulars of the Peddler murder. There was a moment when McBride was certain that the corporal was going to refuse, but in a stroke of genius Mullen had threatened to go to Lazonby. The soldier had gone white, and had practically offered to escort the prisoners to Mullen's car himself. Now they were nearly at the big double doors. Only a few more seconds.
McBride closed his eyes in despair as two armed guards stepped in front of them, blocking their way. Mullen tried to brazen it out, hauling his ID from inside his coat.
'Chief Inspector Mullen, Special Branch. I'm taking these two men back to the station for interrogation.'
One of the soldiers, almost as big as Mullen himself, stared at the three of them.
'Are you, indeed? Well no one has informed me of any prisoner transfer.' He gestured to an office doorway with his gun. 'If you would wait