Doctor Who_ Interference_ Book One - Lawrence Miles [54]
Coldicott squinted at her. ‘That’s it?’
‘You’ve given me everything I need,’ Sarah said, cheerily. ‘I’ll let you get on with your drinking now.’
‘Good,’ said Coldicott. ‘So show me some gratitude. Don’t talk to me again. Ever.’
‘We’ll see.’ Sarah turned her back on him. ‘But you never know. I might move to Geneva one day, mightn’t I?’
Coldicott responded with the rudest word he could immediately think of. As things turned out, it was in German.
* * *
8 June (Research Notes)
Another phone talk with Coldicott. DEFINITE ALIEN INVOLVEMENT. Knew it’d be a big story. Magazine, book, or TV? Wait until Coldicott knows what kind of aliens. If non‐humanoid, difficult making story fit for public consumption. Can’t claim bad guys were just rogue CIA working undercover. Maybe turn story into SF novel? Political overtones. Claim it’s allegorical.
Contact at ICL Tech says he knows Turks interested in COPEX. More govts on Amnesty’s blacklist. Ultra‐tight sec, but no official guest list for attendees. Does DTI care? (Stupid question.)
False identity set up, new fax machine installed under false name. Fake ID not a problem.
V. INTERESTING FACT #13. Saudi Arabia only outlawed slavery in 1963. Not sure what that means just yet, but bear in mind.
Things to do before next week:
– Think up decent false life history. Just in case.
– Buy blonde wig. Dye starting to kill hair.
– Talk Paul into spending weekend.
– Stop making notes about Paul.
– Stop thinking about whether to take it further.
– Stop moping.
Last night spent with Paul = embarrassing moments = not bad but with interesting bits. Probably thinks I’m a pervert. Not my fault!!! (Maybe time with UNIT. Alien fetishism? Ugh.)
Concentrate on story. Things getting big. Might have to get hands dirty. Don’t want to get Paul involved with anything (semi‐famous name, big target). Could end up breaking the law again. Love me, love my dog.
Didn’t mean it like that.
* * *
19 August (5:45 p.m.)
The house was ordinary. That was Sarah’s first impression. An ordinary, detached, two‐storey building, squatting on the corner of the street, with a newsagent’s across the road and a dental surgery just round the corner. The house was big, for the area, but not quite big enough to mark it out as a target for burglary.
She’d parked the car on the other side of the road, and she’d been sitting in the driver’s seat for about half an hour, waiting for the passers‐by to finish passing by. There’d been some schoolchildren hanging around when she’d arrived, but they’d all moved on, obviously having found a new bus stop to deface. And now the sun was starting to go down. The best time for this kind of thing, in Sarah’s view. Light enough to see your way around, dark enough for people not to be watching too closely.
‘Time?’ she asked K9.
‘Seventeen forty‐five and fifty seconds, mistress,’ came the voice from the back seat.
Sarah unlatched the door. She’d rented the car that morning, when she’d gone to see Coldicott in his precious Euro‐pub. As yet, nobody had phoned her and asked when she was going to collect the Land Rover from the service station, which was a blessing. K9 had scanned the house, and reported that there were probably life signs inside, but he’d admitted that it was hard to be certain, what with so many other traces coming from so many other buildings nearby.
‘If I’m not back in half an hour, get help,’ Sarah told him.
‘Mistress?’
‘Get help. Call somebody. Improvise.’
‘No random matrix available, mistress. Improvisation impossible. Behaviour regulated by strict ordered protocols –’
‘Stealth mode,’ Sarah told him.
‘Mistress?’
‘Shush.’
She swung herself out of the car, slammed the door behind her, and hopped across the road. She kept walking as she reached the house, hoping there’d be somewhere to conceal herself at the side of the building, away from the eyes of any bystanders.
As it happened, there was. A small passageway, between the outer wall of the building and the fence that marked off the next homeowner’s territory. Sarah aimed