Doctor Who_ The Paradise of Death - Barry Letts [98]
Freeth produced his handkerchief; he wiped away the drool of saliva at the corner of his mouth.
‘The Games will be over if you don’t get a move on,’ said Tragan.
‘As practical as ever,’ said Freeth. ‘Ready, Doctor?’
The Doctor moved over to Sarah and put his hand on her shoulder. He looked deep into her eyes. She was shaking with anger and with fear, but whether it was fear for herself or fear for the Doctor she couldn’t tell.
‘Please don’t go,’ she said, hating the part of her that hoped that he would.
Freeth was watching them with a kindly smile. ‘I don’t want to rush you.’ he said. ‘It’s an important decision, I can see that. Do please take two or three seconds to make up your mind.’
The Doctor turned back to him.
‘What are we waiting for?’ he said.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Servants are as invisible as postmen. Who would suspect a chambermaid with an armful of sheets of ulterior intentions, or for that matter a uniformed bondservant carrying a tray of cool drinks and tempting snacks?
‘I didn’t order refreshments,’ said Yallet, at the private door to the retiring room. ‘Well, never mind. Thank you.’
Avoiding his attempt to take the tray, Onya made to bring it through the door. Yallet frowned and stood in her path.
‘I wish to see the President,’ she said.
‘The President is resting. Now please go away.’ He took the tray from her.
A thin, tired voice came from inside. ‘Who’s that? Did I hear... Is that really you, Onya?’
‘Yes, President.’
‘My Onya. Come in, come in!’
Yallet tightened his meagre lips and stood to one side.
When the President saw her, he smiled with the unaffected joy of a child greeting a long-lost parent.
‘You’ve come back to me,’ he said.
On the roof of the Corporation Security HQ, the Brigadier
,,poke in a low voice to his second-in-command, Ungar.
Jeremy, who was standing behind him, was wondering to himself whether he dared to suggest that he should remain on the roof as a kind of lookout or something, while the others went off to do the actual fighting. He had a mental picture of twenty or thirty of the sort of thugs who’d guarded them when they first got caught near the TARDIS
all firing guns at him, and him sort of going pop as they all hit him at once.
The Brigadier interrupted himself. ‘Sssh! What’s that noise?’
Jeremy became aware that they were all looking at him.
‘Only my teeth chattering,’ he said meekly.
‘Try to keep them under control, there’s a good chap,’
said the Brigadier.
‘Now listen everybody,’ he went on, ‘there’s a slight change of plan. It seems that Tragan’s people have concentrated themselves in the communications area, which is here.’ He pointed to the map in his hand. ‘Now, Ungar’s recce suggests that if we approach from here... we can take cover here... and here... and with any luck give them the surprise of their lives.’
Jeremy was concentrating on his teeth. No matter how hard he clamped them together, as soon as he stopped trying, they were off again.
‘Are you listening, Jeremy?’
‘What? Yes. Yes. Jolly good idea.’
‘Wait for my signal. Don’t go rushing out getting yourself killed.’
‘Who, me?’ said Jeremy.
‘Anybody. We don’t want any dead heroes. Right? Off we go, then.’
Jeremy opened his mouth; and closed it again. It was too late now to talk about lookouts and stuff. In any case, he didn’t want to be left all by himself. He took a deep breath and scuttled after them.
As Ungar had found, there was a strange dearth of personnel, even for the late shift. One unfortunate they encountered was silenced with a blast from the Brigadier’s stungun and propped in a corner, staring at nothing, to recover his strength in a few hours. Apart from him, nobody.
Nevertheless, Jeremy was glad that the plan entailed their taking cover. As they crept through the darkness of the open-plan communications floor towards the lighted area in the corner, he kept close behind the Brigadier, on the principle that generals and people like that didn’t usually get killed. You only had to look at Napoleon and Wellington and that chappie