Doctor Who_ Last of the Gaderene - Mark Gatiss [58]
‘Despite your best efforts, Lethbridge-Stewart, I have not yet succumbed to the level of petty bureaucracy in which you seem to revel. If there’s any toadying to be done, I suggest you do it yourself!’
Jo slapped her hand down on to the table, rattling the uncleared breakfast cutlery and stopping the Doctor and the Brigadier in their tracks.
‘For goodness sake!’ she cried. ‘What’s got into you two?’
The Doctor looked a little shocked.
Jo glared at him. ‘The Wing Commander is still missing, Noah’s upstairs in... a... a state of shock and Legion International are marching around this village like the SS.
Surely we should be doing whatever it takes to get to the bottom of this, not arguing like kids!’
The Brigadier looked at her. ‘Er... sir,’ she concluded lamely.
The Doctor cleared his throat. ‘Yes. Well, you’re right, my dear. Of course you are.’
He looked up at the Brigadier and gave a tight smile. ‘You said something about a telephone call, Brigadier?’
Lethbridge-Stewart nodded. ‘Yes, Doctor. Charles Cochrane. Secretary of Defence.’
‘Right.’ The Doctor slipped his hands into his trouser pockets. ‘Whenever you’re ready.’
The Brigadier seemed pleased. ‘I’ll get on to it right away.’
There was a heavy, banging sound from upstairs and Noah Bishop suddenly appeared, stumbling down the stairs. He fell heavily into his father’s arms.
‘Dad,’ he croaked, licking his dry lips. ‘Out there! It... it’s out there. On the marsh. I know where it is!’
The Doctor nodded excitedly to himself. ‘Capital! I think I may have something to say to the Minister after all.’
Out on the village green, the sun blazed down.
A black-uniformed Legion trooper stood to attention outside the heavy black curtains of the fête exhibition. He stood stock-still and upright as an oak tree, his black sunglasses glinting.
A little boy in sandals and shorts was plucking at the curtain, eager to see what might be inside. The trooper turned his head and faced the boy. His expressionless face didn’t alter but it was as though a statue had suddenly moved on its plinth.
The boy felt his hair stand on end and, with a drawn-out wail, ran off to find his mother.
The inside of the exhibition tent was a perfect reproduction of an aeroplane interior, decorated in the exquisite black and yellow colours of Legion International. Rows of comfortable-looking chairs were arranged throughout the cabin and small windows looked out on to a simulated blue sky.
Bliss sat in one of the chairs, her fingers steepled together.
Next to her, smoking a fat cigar, was the Master, his inspector’s cap on the arm of the chair.
‘It’s an excellent service,’ he said with a small smile. ‘I’m sure everyone will be all too eager to fly with you.’
Bliss nodded, pleased.
‘There’s only one thing you’ve forgotten,’ said the Master.
Bliss’s dark eyes blinked slowly.
‘My complimentary white wine,’ he said with a chuckle.
Bliss chose to ignore him.
‘The simulation is many years ahead of the technology on Earth. We aim to have most of the village passing through the aeroplane by the end of the day.’
She pressed a button on a small keypad at her side and the view outside changed into a spectacular night-time sky with twinkling lights below it.
‘Rome.’ She pressed again. The view changed to a pinky opalescence. Snow-capped mountains rose through fog.
‘Dawn over the Rockies.’
The Master nodded. ‘A charming toy.’
Bliss’s fat, chalky white face beamed. ‘More than that.
There are some hidden extras on this particular flight.’
She snapped the machine off and the windows were plunged into darkness. ‘But to business. The ninth key has still to be recovered.’
The Master tutted. ‘Is that why you sent for me? You told me it had been traced.’
Bliss clenched her fat fists. ‘There have been some complications. The key registered on my monitors and then...
disappeared.’
She plucked at her blouse. ‘It appeared to be in the general area of the dwelling of a man called Whistler. By chance, he came snooping around the aerodrome but my... interrogation was unsuccessful.’
‘Oh