Doctor Who_ Interference_ Book One - Lawrence Miles [11]
Llewis forced himself to swallow the phlegm.
‘Well, you know,’ he said. ‘Don’t be shy. Give us whatever you like, as long as you don’t let the candle‐burners find out about it.’ He tried to laugh, but it came out as a kind of throaty gargle.
‘Yes,’ said Kode, flatly. ‘We’ll watch out for the candle‐burners.’ And with that he opened the door.
* * *
The office felt familiar even before Llewis had finished walking into it. The smell of air conditioning and squeaky plastic furniture. A small room, with the blinds drawn, just to make it clear that what went on here was supposed to be ultrasecret and ultraserious.
Those were the impressions he got as he stepped over the threshold, anyway. But he tripped before he could take in the details. There was something on the floor just beyond the doorway, some kind of metal box, judging by the sound it made when he kicked it, and by the damage it did to his toes. He pitched over the box, feeling it scrape his knees as he tumbled towards the carpet. Behind him, he heard the bodyguards grunting to each other. The sound was very nearly subsonic.
Then his face hit the floor.
There was a long pause.
Mercifully, nobody started laughing.
‘Oh, I’m sorry,’ said a voice Llewis didn’t recognise. ‘That’s my equipment. I should have left it somewhere a bit more out of the way.’
Llewis raised his head, his arms flapping wildly. He probably looked like a beached whale or something, but he tried to concentrate on the owner of the voice.
It was a woman. That, in itself, was unusual – the only women he’d seen in the building so far had been decorations for the stalls, salesgirls with open‐neck blouses and too much make‐up. But this one was about the same age as Llewis himself, dressed in a smooth green jacket and skirt, and a shirt that looked like it was kept rigid by several layers of starch. She sat on one of the squeaky chairs on the far side of the room, legs neatly crossed, half a smile stapled to her face.
She stood as Llewis winched himself to his feet. He didn’t bother turning to see exactly what he’d tripped over, but he heard it buzz behind him, and he hoped to God it wasn’t going to explode. The woman was still almost‐but‐not‐quite smiling as she extended a hand in Llewis’s direction. Her face was pale and round, making her look fatter than she actually was, and her hair – blonde, cut straight over her eyes, trimmed into a perfect shoulder‐length bob – only helped to make her look overweight.
She wasn’t unattractive, mind you. Llewis decided to take an instant dislike to her anyway.
‘Bland,’ she said, as Llewis shook her hand. ‘Ms Bland. IPS.’
Damn it. IPS. He’d heard that name before, somewhere around the office. He didn’t say anything, in the hope she might elaborate.
He wasn’t disappointed. ‘International Procurement Services,’ the woman went on.
‘Yes,’ said Llewis. And he nodded. Sagely.
The woman’s smirk got a bit smirkier. ‘You might have heard of us. We specialise in getting the right hardware to the right people. By any means necessary.’
Llewis stopped resenting the woman for just long enough to actually work out what she was telling him. He turned to Mr Kode, who was hovering nearby, looking blank.
‘Hang on,’ Llewis protested, trying to sound like he meant business. ‘You said you were only going to be dealing with us. Exclusive rights. Wasn’t that what you said?’
‘Exclusive rights in most territories,’ the woman corrected him.
Mr Kode looked vaguely embarrassed. ‘Nothing’s been agreed yet. Ms Bland’s here to represent one specific client. In the, er…’
‘Gulf states,’ “Ms” Bland said.
‘Gulf states.’ Kode sounded like he had no idea where or what the Gulf states were, the little snot. ‘She got in touch with us just after we got in touch with you. Erm. Competition is an essential element of progress in any economically oriented society. Listen, there’s time to work out all the details later. The ship won