Doctor Who_ Rags - Mick Lewis [27]
Wouldn’t want to lose them. After all, Simon’s father owned the biggest land development company in Wiltshire.
Kane stooped and picked up a stone vase laden with tulips. He aimed it at the nearest stained-glass window, then stopped when he saw the cleaning lady watching him from the church door. She was smiling almost conspiratorially. He dropped the urn.
But he didn’t forget the sensation of spiders crawling across his tongue. Of worms slipping between his lips, fed from a filthy jar by the hands of a vicious fourteen-year-old.
All the way back to UNIT HQ, the Doctor worried about whether he had done the right thing. The sensor, back in its sheath in Bessie’s dashboard, was silent now, at peace.
As he opened the door to the Brigadier’s office the Doctor had almost made up his mind to ask his old friend to authorise a ban on the tour, to impound the cattle truck, like the glorified policeman that he was. But one look at the Brigadier’s 68
complacent air of self-importance brought him up short. He didn’t know why what he saw should reaffirm his initial conviction that the tour should be allowed a free head of steam, but somehow it did.
The Brigadier cocked an eyebrow at him from behind his desk.
A mug of coffee steamed in the sunlight from the window. Official files were positioned neatly next to the fountain pen which was set down exactly parallel to the blotter pad. It was a picture of order and convention.
‘Dartmoor, Doctor,’ the Brigadier said gravely. It wasn’t quite a question, more an understated demand for some kind of report or explanation. It could remain understated as far as the Doctor was concerned; understated to the point of being completely ignorable. However, he was far too concerned about recent events to be irritated.
‘I need your best man, Brigadier,’ the Doctor said, leaning over the desk and confronting the military man in the no-nonsense fashion he always adopted when he wanted to cut through small talk and other nonessentials.
The Brigadier sat back, lifting the mug to his lips. He was waiting for the Doctor to elaborate. And for once UNIT’s scientific adviser was happy to oblige.
‘There’s something very wrong afoot in the Southwest, Brigadier. Something I can’t yet identify or understand, which is why I’ve returned here. I’m going to need complete peace and quiet while I do a detailed analysis on some readings I’ve received
- and that means under no circumstances am I to be disturbed...’
He gave the Brigadier a meaningful look. ‘Frankly, it’s going to take all the facilities my lab has to offer. But in the meantime, I need your help.’
‘And Miss Grant?’ The Brigadier had an irritating knack of always putting his finger clumsily but unerringly on the most sensitive area. It was one of his more endearing traits. ‘I couldn’t help noticing you arrived alone.’
The Doctor straightened up defensively. ‘Yes, well, that’s exactly 69
why I need your assistance. You’ve no doubt heard about the large gathering in Dartmoor associated with the murders? I’ve left Jo there to keep an eye on things... but well, I’m a little concerned.’
‘Quite rightly so, Doctor.’
The Doctor gave him a guilty frown. ‘I’d like you to send someone else there to keep an eye on her. An undercover agent, if you like. Someone who can slip into the crowd incognito, without arousing suspicion, who can also protect Jo from any possible danger.’
The Brigadier looked at him quizzically. ‘You want one of my men to pretend to be a long-haired hippie?’
The Doctor frowned even more deeply, and his voice was angry.
‘Yes, that’s exactly what I want, Brigadier. Now, do you think you are capable of providing me with one?’
Sin.
Sin Yen.
Sin!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Nick woke. And Sin was still there. She was sitting next to him on the seat of Jimmy’s camper, with Jo behind and Rod across the narrow aisle. The Dead Boys were blaring from the stereo.
Perhaps that had woken him, and not the fact that he was screaming Sin’s name. Apparently he hadn’t made a sound, because