Doctor Who_ Interference_ Book Two - Lawrence Miles [15]
Saudi Arabia. That was where the Remote had sent its samples, before it had found out about COPEX and changed its strategy. Guest had thought about giving both Saudi Arabia and Iraq the Cold, hoping to stir up a handy war or two, but the plan had been full of holes from the start. Around here, Compassion had pointed out, they sold torture hardware units by the thousand, not by the dozen. They needed a proper distribution network, not a couple of one-off deals with local governments.
And now the woman Bland was following the loose ends they’d left behind. Kode listened to the signals around him, the cultural background noise of the planet Earth. Whichever way he cocked his head, the message was the same. Images of action, images of violence.
The woman had talked about a TARDIS. If Kode could get his hands on the machine, before Guest even got back from Anathema…
Action. Immediate action. Buzz, buzz.
Kode closed the briefcase on the bed, stuffed it under his arm, turned off the TV, and hurried out of the hotel room. A few moments later, he hurried back into the hotel room, went over to the desk, took out a fresh packet of cigarettes, dumped them in his jacket pocket, and went out again.
* * *
20 August, 19:06
They took the Ogron’s car to the hotel. Lost Boy drove, while Sarah sat in the back seat, keeping her head down. According to Lost Boy, both Guest and Compassion had gone back to their own home planet (which wasn’t actually a planet, apparently, although Lost Boy wasn’t sure exactly what it was), which left Kode on his own at the hotel. Lost Boy doubted whether Kode would be able to tear himself away from the TV for long enough to find them messing around in the Remote’s downstairs room. Even so, Sarah wasn’t taking any chances.
They’d left K9 back in Croydon. K9 had objected, as ever, but Sarah had insisted that he’d be too unwieldy. ‘Suggestion,’ he’d barked, just before they’d left. ‘Remote have developed a transmission-based culture. Disturbances to any medium may be detected. Chances of Remote not noticing unauthorised use of their matter transmission facility –’
‘See you later,’ Sarah had said, as she’d slammed the front door.
The car came to a halt. Sarah peeked out of the window, and saw that they’d pulled up on the pavement directly opposite the hotel. They were parked on a double-yellow, but she doubted anyone would bother arguing with Lost Boy.
‘Sure?’ said Lost Boy. Without K9 to translate property, the Ogron seemed to be talking in grunts again.
‘Sure about what?’ asked Sarah.
‘Doctor Lord in Sau-di… Ar-a‐bi-a.’
Sarah blew through her lips. ‘I hope so. It makes more sense than anything else. The Doctor had been tortured, and the Saudi police use torture all the time. Even against minor offenders, if they think they can get away with it. And Badar had his head cut off, which is how they’re supposed to do things over there. I’ve seen the newspaper stories. It didn’t click until last night. I should have realised before. The Saudis buy tons of stuff from fairs like COPEX. Britain’s been supplying them with shackles since the eighties.’
Predictably, the Ogron’s response was to grunt. It was probably a very eloquent grunt, though, if you knew how to appreciate it. He climbed out of the car, and Sarah followed him, the doors autolocking behind them.
Nobody gave them a second glance as they crossed the hotel lobby, although the other guests did move out of Lost Boy’s way quite quickly. There were about half a dozen people clustered around the reception desk, all complaining about the TV reception in their rooms. Some actually looked shocked by what they’d seen. Others were demanding to know why they could get only the Sci-Fi Channel.
The Remote’s room was numbered 1.16, and Lost Boy opened it without any kind of caution, turning the door handle until it snapped right off. It was, Sarah realised, the room where the Remote had been keeping Sam, after she’d been knocked out by the stun gun. There were no signs of life here now, and all the furnishings were still piled into