Doctor Who_ The King of Terror - Keith Topping [79]
‘I hate you,’ Tegan said simply. ‘I loathe you and everything you stand for.
That’s what’s worrying me.’
The distant noise of a gun bolt being dragged into position stopped the conversation at this intriguing point.
‘Hate to interrupt,’ whispered Paynter. ‘But we seem to have company.’
Control stood on the balcony of the penthouse suite on the top floor of the Bel Air Holiday Inn overlooking the 405 San Diego Freeway. Six perfect lanes of nose-to-tail traffic in each direction. The city beyond, Control reasoned, could have been almost anywhere. Paris, Tokyo, London . . .
Except for the freeway, which was wholly unique to a country where everything came in straight lines. From hypermarket aisles, to cinema queues, to cocaine.
Control hated Los Angeles with a passion. A town full of empty minds and empty hearts. He spent as little time here as possible, preferring San Francisco and New York. Cities with soul.
The only reason that he was here now – in this plastic-fantastic, neon, non-stick sink of human weakness, this modern-age Sodom – was that he was sleeping with the enemy.
Everybody did it in LA.
‘You’re also thinking this place is a craphole, yeah?’
There was a pseudo-innocent smile on Control’s face as he turned to face Ryman. ‘I wasn’t aware that the Canavitchi were telepathic,’ he said.
‘There’s a lot of things you don’t know about us,’ Ryman replied. There was a chilling edge to the statement. ‘Empathic ability being one of them.’
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Control, however, was unmoved by any implied threats. When he looked at Ryman it was, almost impossibly, the alien who was the more unnerved by their eye contact and quickly turned away.
‘The information that your brave girl provided us with has proved to be most useful,’ began Control.
Ryman expected nothing less, and interrupted to say so.
‘It would be arrogant to assume that the CIA does not appreciate her sacri-fice,’ Control continued.
‘And the rest of humanity?’ asked Ryman.
Now Control found humour in the conversation. ‘Do you ever have that feeling that people don’t understand or appreciate what it is that you’re doing for them? For their own good? ‘
‘Not often,’ Ryman replied.
‘I do,’ said Control. ‘Every single day.’
Ryman didn’t seem interested in playing Control’s games. Instead he picked up the copy of the CD disk that had wandered across a third of the globe in such an exciting and dangerous fashion. Looking at it, he seemed to find it remarkable that such a small and insignificant object could contain such powerful, world-altering data.
‘The information that your colleague was able to supply has put us in such a position as to be able to accurately predict what the next move of the Jex will be,’ announced Control.
‘Prediction is the name of the game,’ noted Ryman. ‘And now you’re giving the information to us?’ He pocketed the disk, then asked Control the most obvious question in the world. ‘Why?’
If Control was surprised by the query he didn’t show it. ‘Mutual interests,’
he replied simply, before adding, ‘I must say, however, that the CIA were sad-dened to learn of the death of your colleague. A senseless waste of life.’
Ryman, in his turn, was surprised – by this display of sympathy. ‘My people have little time for human sentimentalities such as this,’ he said curtly. ‘The period of life is merely one tiny portion of an eternity of states. We shed no tears for the nonliving though they may, in their own way, cry an ocean for us.’
Control picked up his overcoat from the chair on which it rested and gave the Los Angeles skyline a final, lingering look. ‘You don’t fear death?’ he asked, curiously. ‘You must find that quite useful during conflict.’
‘Absolutely,’ noted Ryman. ‘Death, for us, is merely a doorway to a better state of existence. Why should that be feared? We welcome death.’ He took Control’s place on the panoramic balcony. ‘Stay awhile,’ he called over his shoulder. ‘Something’s going to happen in a few moments that I think will greatly amuse you.’
∗ ∗ ∗
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Tegan crouched on one knee listening