Doctor Who_ The King of Terror - Keith Topping [60]
‘I told you about the Doctor?’ asked Turlough incredulously.
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‘Yeah, before you got to the “I come from another planet, baby bit.’
Oh no, oh no, oh no, oh no oh no . . .
Turlough sat bolt upright until his head screamed out in protest and he slumped back down again on to the soft pillow.
‘I would never tell anyone . . . ’
‘Well you did,’ Eva replied.
Turlough’s mind was in free fall. Why would he be so stupid? He knew the rules.
And then he noticed the small needle-scar on his upper arm and, like a curtain parting before him, the fog cleared and he remembered.
Everything.
‘Get away from me,’ he said, pushing Eva as hard as he could. Panic took hold as he tried to unwrap himself from the bedclothes, but in his weakened state he only succeeded in collapsing on to the bedroom floor. And there he lay whilst Eva stood up and towered over him. A laughing succubus. Turlough whimpered softly, unable to do or say anything else.
The door in front of Turlough opened and Sanger and Joyce walked in as Eva hurriedly pulled on a bathrobe.
‘Don’t get dressed on my account,’ said Sanger with a lustful, contemptuous smile.
Eva didn’t reply. Instead she used her foot to flip Turlough over on to his back.
He lay dazed and paralysed, staring at the ceiling with a bemused expression.
‘We were quite enjoying ourselves,’ Joyce noted. But Sanger’s face had changed to something more serious and businesslike.
‘I told you this was a bad idea,’ he said. ‘It’s time to stop playing games. We don’t have the time.’ He looked down at Turlough keenly. ‘You’re a long way from home,’ he said simply.
‘We’ve got what we’ve spent a decade looking for,’ said Joyce. ‘What’s the problem? We just give him to Chung and extract his DNA.’
‘Not yet,’ said Sanger. ‘We first need to find out what UNIT knows.’
The music that floated through the walls of Jon Newton’s penthouse apartment was British Indie pop. All jingle-jangle-morning Rickenbacker guitars and fey harmonised vocals. Sam Danvers and Bill Quay hammering on the door was not an altogether inappropriate accompaniment.
After they had skinned their knuckles for about three minutes the door opened and an annoyed-looking Newton stood framed in the doorway wearing a Japanese kimono-style dressing gown, his hair an untidy mess.
‘I thought I told you never to come here,’ he hissed.
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‘It was important,’ Sam said quickly. ‘Obviously.’
‘Then you’d better come in,’ said Newton, ushering them quickly through the door then checking the corridor to make sure they hadn’t been followed.
‘Don’t be so paranoid man,’ said Bill. Then he wished he hadn’t as Newton pushed him up against the breakfast bar of the exquisite apartment and grabbed both lapels, pulling him so close that he could smell the garlic on Newton’s breath.
‘You spastic,’ bawled Newton. ‘I didn’t get where I am today by taking unnecessary chances.’
‘Relax,’ interjected Sam, but Newton clearly wasn’t very interested in relax-ing.
His face was so close to Bill’s that the big man could see the froth forming in his mouth. ‘If I tell you to jump, you ask “how high”, right?’ he spat.
‘You betcha,’ said Bill, turning his face away to avoid the garlic. And Newton’s insane stare.
‘Good,’ said Newton, releasing his grip, straightening Bill’s jacket collar and then giving him a playful punch in the kidneys that caused him to collapse moaning on to the floor. ‘Just so long as we know where we stand.’ He turned to Sam. ‘Some fresh orange juice, perhaps?’
‘Yeah, why not?’ replied Sam as Newton headed into the breakfast bar. ‘Nice place you’ve got here.’
‘I should hope so,’ said Newton. ‘It’s extravagantly expensive.’
As he said this, Hayley Tonkin emerged from the bedroom, a flannelette sheet wrapped around her as a makeshift toga. ‘Come back to bed,’ she said sleepily, before seeing Bill and Sam. ‘Oh, hi guys.’
‘Morning Hayley,’ said Sam.
‘Make yourself useful,’ demanded