Doctor Who_ Last of the Gaderene - Mark Gatiss [11]
‘Is he all right?’ queried Noah. He glanced behind him.
The lorry was now reloaded, the tarpaulin stretched back into place, as taut as a bat’s wing.
The officer placed a gloved hand on Noah’s shoulder.
‘There’s no problem, son. You go home now.’
Annoyed, Noah shrugged off the officer’s hand. ‘Would you mind telling me who you are exactly?’ he said loudly.
The officer said nothing, merely moving back to rejoin his men. Noah followed him, his straight, blond hair fluttering in the breeze.
‘Is something going on up at the aerodrome? We’ve got a right to know.’
The men had formed a neat line and were moving rapidly up the village green like a phalanx of cockroaches. Noah tugged at the officer’s shirt.
Without warning the man swung round, his fixed grin wavering slightly. He raised a hand as though about to strike Noah.
‘You heard the boy, identify yourself,’ barked an authoritative voice.
Noah and the officer both looked round to see Wing Commander Whistler standing by the road, striking an impressive pose as he leant on his shooting-stick.
‘Well?’ he insisted, walking right up to the uniformed men, his old face flushed with fury.
The officer slowly lowered his hand. His eyes flicked from Whistler to Noah and back again. ‘My name is McGarrigle.
Captain McGarrigle.’
Whistler looked him up and down contemptuously.
‘Captain, eh? Army?’
McGarrigle shook his head. ‘Civilian.’
He touched his fingers to the tip of his cap. ‘There’s nothing to see. Good morning to you.’
Once again he grinned, tiny beads of saliva sliding over his long, brownish teeth. He turned on his heel and marched his men away.
Whistler and Noah looked round as the lorry finally moved off. It backed away from the churned-up soil of the green, executed a neat three-point turn which got it back on to the road and trundled off towards the aerodrome.
‘Well, what was all that about?’ asked Noah.
Whistler said nothing, but stared at the boy for a long, thoughtful moment. Then he marched swiftly to the phone box on the edge of the green.
He hauled open the stiff door and pulled a battered blue address book from his coat pocket. Vaguely he registered the unpleasant smell of urine and the carpet of dust and mouldering bus tickets beneath his feet, but his mind was elsewhere. He found the number he’d been looking for and laid the address book on the scuffed black shelf next to the phone. He dialled a long number, the circular dial crawling back round, digit by digit, with agonising slowness.
Whistler cradled the receiver under his chin and peered through the dirty glass panes of the phone box, sure that the troops would appear again at any moment. Noah was watching them go, gnawing anxiously at his knuckles.
‘You have reached the offices of Panorama Securities’
said a recorded woman’s voice at the other end. ‘Please hold.’
Whistler sighed impatiently and hastily slotted three ten-pence pieces into the box.
There was a click at the end of the line and this time a man spoke. ‘Hello?’
‘Yes, hello,’ said Whistler, his throat dry. ‘I need to speak to Brigadier Lethbridge-Stewart. It’s urgent.’
Chapter Five
Escape to Danger
A very, very long way from the village of Culverton, three moons were rising in a sky the colour of burnt orange. A dense jungle, alive with the hooting and whistling of strange creatures, was disappearing into shadowy night as a man made his way swiftly and urgently through the trees.
The Doctor was running for his life.
He pulled up sharply, resting the flat of his hand against a tall, willowy tree trunk; the bark was still warm from the heat of the planet’s day. Behind him, there was a sudden rustling sound.
The Doctor snapped his head round and squinted through the fading light to try and make out his pursuers. Only the jungle looked back at him, however, now beginning to glow bone-white in the light of the moons.
The Doctor leant back against the tree and listened to the harsh sound of his own breathing and heart beating.
A very tall, slender man, with a mane of white hair and