Doctor Who_ The Paradise of Death - Barry Letts [9]
No doubt about it.
Freeth heaved a rich sigh. ‘Brigadier, the company I have the privilege of serving is a very large one. In fact, I think I could say without fear of contradiction, that it is the largest multi-national in existence.’
‘So what are you saying, sir?’
‘It would be a pity, as I’m sure you would agree, if such a company were to begrudge its chairman the use of a teensy-weensy little corporate chopper.’
‘A helicopter!’ said the Doctor.
The Brigadier looked at him. Now what? He sounded as if this was practically an admission of guilt. But the Doctor hadn’t finished. ‘I see!’ he added, as if this answered every question that could possibly be asked.
‘And what exactly do you see, Doctor?’ Tragan said grimly.
‘Quite a lot, Mr Tragan. You’d be surprised.’
So should I, thought the Brigadier. ‘Well, Mr Freeth,’
he continued aloud, ‘I think that covers everything for the moment. Thank you for your help.’
‘Don’t hesitate to contact me at any time,’ said Freeth.
The Doctor eyed him beadily. ‘We shan’t. In fact, I think I can promise you that we shall meet again quite soon. No, please,’ he added to Tragan, who had not moved,
‘we can see ourselves out.’
As soon as the door closed, Grebber burst into speech.
‘They’re on to us! That Doctor guy. He knows. He knows, I tell you!’
‘Quiet!’ hissed Tragan. ‘They’ll hear you!’
‘Tragan!’ Freeth’s disarming air of helpless innocence had quite vanished.
‘What is it?’
‘I want to know who that Doctor is. Where he comes from; what his qualifications are; what was the maiden name of his maternal great grandmother. The lot! And I want to know a year last Tuesday. Right?’
Chapter Four
Oh Lor’! Here they come – and still no sign of any of Clorinda’s photographers, thought Sarah, as she spotted the Doctor, deep in conversation with the Brigadier, coming out of the office block.
Pushing her way through the gathering crowd of journalists, she tried to get near enough to hear what they were saying. But what with the blaring sci-fi music coming through the loudspeakers and the usual ribald chat of her colleagues, it wasn’t until she was almost on top of them that she could make out their words.
‘You obviously noticed something about that shower that I missed,’ the Brigadier was saying.
‘Not a bit of it.’
‘Thought you’d spotted that they’d all got Martian socks on. Or whatever.’
‘That’s just what I hoped they would think.’
Sarah lurked as near as she dared, elaborately pretending that she hadn’t noticed them, still keeping an eye towards the entrance.
‘You brought me here to find out whether there’s an alien dimension to this death. If there is, and our friends are in fact involved, they’ll be quite worried now. And a worried man is a careless man.’
‘Ah,’ said the Brigadier. ‘Yes. Clever stuff.’
Oh dear, they’d stopped talking.
She sneaked a glance at them. They were both staring straight at her.
‘Oh, hello!’ she said brightly.
‘We meet again, Miss Smith,’ the Brigadier said drily.
‘Yes, we do, don’t we?’ She gave a little laugh. It sounded unconvincing even to her.
There was an awkward pause.
‘Are you going to join us on this guided tour affair? Due to start in a couple of jiffs.’
Was there a hint of reservation behind the polite words?
The Doctor certainly had a sardonic lift to his eyebrow.
But it was a chance too good to lose.
‘Yes. I’d love to. I’m just waiting for the magazine’s photographer.’ Where was he for Pete’s sake? She desperately scanned the chattering groups. And then she saw him: a slight figure bemusedly wandering through the throng. clutching a small camera case to his expensively clad bosom as though it might try to escape. Jeremy? What on earth did Clorinda think she was doing?
His face cleared as she called out to him. He hurried over. ‘Sarah! Thank goodness I found you. All these people!’
‘You’re not a photographer,’ she said in despair.
‘Ah well, you see,’ he answered in his impeccably upper class voice, ‘I’ve got a message from Clorinda about that.
She said to say that. er. “she told