Doctor Who_ Island of Death - Barry Letts [28]
Whitbread! The man they were after in London! Now they might get some answers, thought the Brigadier.
Brother Alex could hardly stand. His usual, carefully tanned complexion was now a jaundiced yellow-white, and his eyes were sunken in deep pits of shadow.
The man was obviously on his last legs. The questions would have to wait. „You‟re ill, man. We must get you to a doctor,‟ the Brigadier said. „Sorry,‟ he grunted to the Doctor, who, with a look, took hold of Alex‟s wrist to feel his pulse.
„Who was it that has locked you in the office, sir?‟ asked Major Chatterjee. „That in itself, you know, is a criminal offence, no doubt.‟
„For God‟s sake!‟ Alex was almost screaming. „It can‟t go without me! I must be on that ship!‟
„I‟m sorry, sir. That‟s out of the question. Until you‟ve answered our...‟
But Alex wasn‟t listening. Wrenching himself free from the Doctor, he pushed violently past the others, in a rush to escape.
„Stop him!‟ barked the Brigadier.
„Sah!‟ barked back the enormous sergeant, who was standing by the broken door.
But Alex wasn‟t giving up easily. With an animal howl of desperation, struggling with a fanatical strength that was quite at odds with his apparent state of near-collapse, he beat at the sergeant‟s chest with his free hand as he fought to get away from the great hand clamped around his arm. For a moment, it almost looked as if he might manage it.
But the Doctor was beside them in an instant. He touched the frantic man at the base of his skull, finding some esoteric pressure point. The Brigadier had seen him do the same in the past, and was now equally taken aback at the result. For Alex Whitbread, with joints suddenly resembling those of a rag-doll, sank to the floor and lay still. His arm fell lifelessly as the sergeant let it go.
„Well!‟ said Major Chatterjee. „You could knock me down with a feather, you know!‟
The Brigadier pulled himself together. We‟d better get him to the hospital.‟
„That‟s the last thing we must do, Lethbridge-Stewart,‟ said the Doctor. „Once in the grip of officialdom, he‟ll be lost to us.‟
The Brigadier grunted. The Doctor was right, for once. If the rest of the cult had given them the slip, Whitbread was their only contact. And as for the others...
The telephone in the office was still connected. A quick call to the Harbour Master‟s office confirmed their fears. The
Skang had sailed. But at least they now knew where she was going. She‟d filed her sailing plans, as the regulations demanded.
The Skang was going to Sri Lanka.
Ron had been only too pleased to let them have another room, his normal business being passing trade, with more emphasis on the passing than the trade.
Habeas corpus: you may have the body... thought the Brigadier gloomily, as he watched the sergeant tenderly laying the limp figure on the bed. We‟ve got the body - and much good may it do us. „When shall we be able to interrogate him?‟ he said aloud.
„He‟ll be out for an hour or so,‟ the Doctor said. „It‟s difficult to say precisely. You have to be careful, you see. It‟s a useful technique to sedate any vertebrate, but a few micrograms too much pressure, and the central nervous system would come to a dead stop.‟
Having dispatched the sergeant to wait in the car, the two UNIT officers and the Doctor repaired to the hotel hallway, which doubled as a lounge, to have a council of war.
All the delays of the last two days churned through the Brigadier‟s mind. If only they had flown out straight away, instead of wasting so much time with the TARDIS! They‟d missed their chance; and now they were in an impossible position, as he pointed out to the Doctor with scarcely concealed fury. To chase after the Skang in a helicopter, for instance, would certainly be counter-productive. What were they to do once they‟d landed on the deck?
Their only hope of stopping the ship on the high seas would be to enlist the help of the Indian Navy. A destroyer, or even a frigate, could metaphorically (or even literally) fire a shot across the bows of the runaway vessel. But