Doctor Who_ The Sea-Devils - Malcolm Hulke [20]
Captain Hart tried to remember. A lot of things had happened in his busy life since yesterday afternoon. ‘He wanted to visit an oil-rig—this one,’ and he rose from behind his desk and indicated the rig on his wall chart.
‘What did he want to go there for?’ asked P.C. Watkins.
Hart gave thought to this. He firmly believed that the Doctor was mentally unbalanced, or at least eccentric; but he was connected with UNIT, and possibly everything that was discussed yesterday should be regarded as secret. ‘I’ve no idea,’ Hart lied.
P.C. Watkins had not been a policeman all his life without recognising a lie when it was told to him. ‘Come now, sir,’ he said, ‘surely if he told you that he wanted to go to the oil-rig, he must have said why?’
Hart was now distinctly annoyed with Watkins, because clearly the latter realised he had lied. But having told the lie, he now had to defend it. ‘He was a very eccentric gentleman. I’m afraid that I can say no more than that.’
Watkins closed his notebook. He, Watkins, was now distinctly annoyed with Captain Hart, because Captain Hart was excluding him from something that was going on. Watkins liked to be the trusted servant, and not to be treated as a child. ‘Very well, sir,’ he said. ‘I shall have to report this to my superiors.’ It contained just the hint of a threat.
‘Report it to whomsoever you like,’ said Captain Hart carelessly. ‘I must now get on with my work.’
Watkins replaced his helmet on his head before leaving Hart’s office, just to remind the captain that he represented the Law.
Alone, Captain Hart spent a few moments thinking over what P.C. Watkins had told him. Although a bit odd in his way of doing things, clearly the Doctor was not the sort of person who would steal a man’s boat, or even borrow it without taking it back. The oil-rig was not very far from the island, and although there had been a heavy swell late yesterday afternoon, at no time had the sea been particularly rough. On that basis, the trip to the oil-rig and back would have been well within the range of the little boat in which Hart had seen the Doctor arrive at the base yesterday. So what had happened to the man? Why would he voluntarily stay on the oil-rig all night?
With these thoughts in mind Captain Hart got up and went into the next office, the Naval Base’s radio-room. Leading Telegraphist Bryson was on duty.
‘Bryson,’ said Hart, ‘whistle up oil-rig No. 5, will you?’
‘Anything in particular, sir?’ asked Bryson, as he adjusted his transmitter to the oil-rig’s wavelength.
‘I don’t know,’ said Hart. ‘Let’s see if we can get an answer first.’
Bryson spoke into a microphone: ‘HMS Foxglove calling oil-rig five. I repeat, HMS Foxglove calling oil-rig five.’ As with all Naval shore-establishments, the base had a name like a ship, and the name was always preceded with the words HMS—Her Majesty’s Ship.
‘How long do they usually take to reply?’ asked Hart.
‘When they’re fully operational, sir,’ said Bryson, ‘there’s always a sparks on duty. But No. 5’s only got two maintenance men on her. You know, that’s the rig where everything kept breaking down.’
‘Yes,’ said Captain Hart thoughtfully, ‘I remember.’ He suddenly made up his mind what had to be done. ‘Forget the call Bryson, and call up air-sea rescue.’
Jo opened a tin of baked beans and poured the contents into a little saucepan. They had had beans for breakfast, and now they would have to have beans for lunch. She could not find any other food anywhere on the oil-rig. Clark was at last sleeping peacefully, having had a troubled night full of bad dreams, and the Doctor was engrossed with building a complicated radio transmitter circuit from what remained of half-a-dozen pocket radios. Jo looked across at him and the tangle of wires strewn all over the table.
‘How’s it going?’ she asked.
‘Nearly finished,’ he said. ‘I’m just about to test it.’ He made a few final adjustments. ‘Now,’ he said proudly, ‘let’s see