Doctor Who_ The King of Terror - Keith Topping [49]
This was the really dangerous part.
She accessed the Internet and dialled up a twenty-nine-digit site address.
Seconds turned into minutes as Kyla drummed her fingers on the keyboard in irritation.
‘Come on, you faggot. Connect. Do you want this stuff or not?’
The computer bleeped at her.
Buffer saved @ Thurs 8th Jul 22:15:43 [PST]
<@Lighthouse>
Good evening.
<@Orthogenesis>
I have the ‘champagne’.
<@Lighthouse>
Decoded?
<@Orthogensis>
Fully. Prepare to upload.
Kyla inserted the disk into its drive and pressed ‘enter’.
The screen was flooded with scrolling images, billions of bytes of memory whizzing through the telecommunication system towards their destination.
Connection Interrupted
94
The warning message appeared so suddenly that Kyla stared at it blankly for several seconds. ‘What . . . ?’ she began. Then the implications became clear. She cursed as she snatched the lead from the back of the computer.
Plan B.
Go to Plan B. Go directly to Plan B. Do not pass judgement . . .
She cursed again. Then, calming herself, she took the disk from the computer and ran towards the door, aware that she had mere minutes before InterCom’s trigger-happy goons would arrive.
Even with singed hair and a black tarmac-burn on his face, Jon Newton still looked impressive to his coven. Today, more so than ever. They were the lead item on all the network news programmes, they had hundreds of congratula-tory e-mails from their brothers in Japan, Germany, Britain and Russia. And, most importantly, Newton was in such a good mood that he wasn’t hitting anyone. Even the surroundings were more palatial than normal. The front room of Bill Quay’s Studio City apartment wasn’t as big as many of the church crypts in which they had met before, but it was certainly cleaner.
‘ De feu celeste au Royal edifice, Quand la lumiere du Mars defaillira, Sept mois grand Guerre, mort gent de malefice, ’ chanted Newton excitedly. He lit another black candle and motioned the group to kneel as he continued with his outpouring of hatred. ‘Celestial fire shall fall from the skies on the house of the King. When Mars is eclipsed by the moon, the Great War of witchcraft and death shall reign in the seventh month.’
‘This shall be the whole of the law,’ intoned the coven.
‘The ruination shall beat down upon the heads and the backs of tyrants and evil men. L’an mil neuf cens nonante neuf sept mois, du ciel viendra un grand Roy d’effrayeur. ’
‘This shall be the whole of the law.’
‘July 1999,’ said Hayley, loved-up on pills and a thirst for blood.
‘The great King of Terror is coming down from the skies. Yes,’ shouted Newton. ‘ Yes. He’s gonna be down amongst ’em.’
The expectant look on the faces of the coven, like children waiting for Christmas morning, scared him momentarily. He had brought them to the top of the mountain but now they wanted to go that extra step and actually see the promised land. ‘Soon,’ Newton said softly, reflecting that even he was starting to believe his own propaganda. ‘Our deliverance is at hand. You’ve finally got what you wanted!’
Nigel had grasped one of the black candles, close to the burning flame. The hot wax dripped on to his palm but he felt no pain. Only joy.
‘It is written,’ cried Newton, throwing his arms up high. ‘Deliverance from our oppressors. The churches of God shall be persecuted and the holy temples 95
shall be defiled. The crippled shall be suffocated in the city of the great King.
The plan . . . ’ Newton paused.
‘Tell us the plan,’ shouted Hayley.
‘Next part of the plan. We attack those who would destroy us with their military ways. It is written that a barbarous soldier shall attack the King.’
Newton grabbed a burning candle and effortlessly snapped it in two. ‘UNIT,’
he spat, ‘shall pay