Doctor Who_ Prime Time - Mike Tucker [75]
Barrock and his pack re-emerged victorious, the barrels of their guns smoking, their claws red.
The Doctor’s hand grasped the door control.
The Time Lords’ eyes met.
The Master gave a thin smile.
The Doctor threw the lever.
The underground chamber erupted into pandemonium as the cell doors swung open. Animals of all descriptions surged from their confinement, desperate to escape, and stampeded past the Zzinbriizi pack. One of the jackals threw itself at them and brought one crashing to the floor. With a baying howl the Zzinbriizi tore the throat from its victim.
The smell of blood seemed to unleash a primal need in the pack. They fell on the terrified animals, casting their guns aside.
‘No! Stop this!’ The Doctor could hear Barrock screaming amongst the howls.
The Doctor looked around for the Master, but he was gone. He swung round. A corridor led off into darkness. He started towards it.
A blaster bolt tore a smoking hole in the stonework next to his head. Across the chamber, through the tide of screaming animals, Barrock stared at him, his eyes blazing, his pack reduced to the savage predators they truly were.
The Doctor raised his hat, and vanished into the gloom.
Barrock threw back his head and screamed in rage and frustration.
Reg Gurney pounded up the emergency stairs, his heart racing.
He didn’t understand all these plans of the director-general.
Letting people escape from the complex, then letting people into the complex, not apprehending them when he had the chance. It was politics, internal politics and he didn’t like it.
He was a simple man, trying to do what he thought was a simple job. Keep order, keep discipline, keep the employees safe. Now, at least, his instructions were clear. Apprehend the girl. Use any force necessary. Bring her to Studio Two.
That was what he liked. Clear, unambiguous instructions.
He had chosen six of his best men, all of them with tape guns.
He could have taken the girl with less, he had no doubt about that, but a show of force was always good for the work force, let them know who was really in control. A little bit of healthy respect was always useful.
He and his men had pushed their way through the studio audience, spreading out and taking stairways at either end of the bar. There was no way the girl could escape. He had isolated the lifts. She was trapped. Reg felt a surge of pride. It was a well-planned military operation. He had co-ordinated hundreds of them when he was in the army. He just wished that he was a little younger, and that the stairs weren’t quite so steep.
Panting, he reached the top landing and stopped, trying to calm his pounding heart. He checked his gun, setting the tape streams to maximum. Not for the first time he ached for a real gun, a real unit to command. Briggs and Rickett hovered behind him, jittery and nervous. He pulled himself up to his full height, straightening his scarlet uniform.
‘Right,’ he hissed. ‘I’ll take point. You next, Briggs, Rickett, keep the rear covered. Are the others in place?’
Briggs checked his radio and nodded.
‘Good.’ Gurney swung up his gun. ‘As soon as you see her give her everything you’ve got. The little bitch isn’t going to get away this time.’
He kicked open the door.
The commissionaires swarmed in. The bar was in darkness, only the light of the distant city filtering through the windows. A shadowed figure could be seen in the centre of the room.
‘There she is! Fire!’ bellowed Gurney.
The bar was filled with harsh cracking noises and acrid smoke as six guns blazed, ribbons of red tape billowing across the room. There was a muffled cry and the figure crashed to the floor. Gurney gave a shout of triumph. ‘Got her!’
He stamped across the bar, slinging his gun on to his shoulder. He grasped the fallen figure and dragged it to its feet.
‘Get some lights on in here, damn it!’
Rickett fumbled with the light switch.
The lights snapped on.
Gartrold Breame smiled out from his