Doctor Who_ Trading Futures - Lance Parkin [19]
* * *
The picture shifted, automatically following the man in the long coat as he entered the office block.
‘I can’t believe it’s him,’ Roja said.
‘Both he and the girl are showing an anomalous temp‐trace. I’m running ident software to be sure. There: the identification computer says there’s no doubt. It’s the Doctor.’
‘He’s involved in this?’
That earned a withering look. ‘You can see he’s involved.’
‘You think he’s behind all this, Madame Jaxa?’
‘He interferes. Records from my time show that this is a critical point in the ancient history of the Earth. He probably thinks he’s helping.’
‘All rogue time elements think they’re helping.’
‘Indeed,’ Jaxa said, rewarding the boy with a smile.
‘What should we do?’
‘We treat him like any other time criminal – we establish his guilt, then eliminate him. We have to identify the transduction point he is using. I’ll attempt to do that, while you set up a sniper position.’
‘I’ve only killed in simulations, Jaxa.’
‘Then your first blooding is overdue. Will you be able to carry out your duty?’
‘Of course, Jaxa.’
‘Good. Prepare.’
* * *
This really wasn’t Fitz’s scene.
He’d wandered up to the zoo, had a look round the reptile house, which had an enormous pair of pythons, a cobra and a pit full of rattlesnakes. The place was swarming with something far worse, too – kids. Little kids, all screeching and clapping and running around to tell each other what wonderful new thing they’d discovered.
Yuck.
The Doctor’s instructions had been clear enough – buy a camera at the airport, take a photo of anyone who looked out of place.
Fitz had a good mind to hold the camera at arm’s length and point it at himself. The only other people that had qualified were a pair of blokes in trenchcoats. When he’d tried to take their photo on the digital camera, the pictures came out as a blur. Fitz clearly hadn’t mastered the intricacies of high technology.
Then he saw the old man and the totty with him.
Totty first: she was in her early twenties, wearing the unusual combination of tight shorts and a scientist’s white coat. She was oriental, and had an incredible figure – slim, athletic. Her hair was dyed honey blonde.
He was well preserved, but in his seventies at the very least. His hair was snow white, with a buzz cut, and a neat beard. He was wearing a smart double‐breasted suit. He was broad‐shouldered, tall.
And he was sleeping with the girl. Not right this minute, obviously, but it was pretty clear. She was smitten. Lucky old sod.
‘Could you tell me the time, Penny?’ the old man asked. A commanding voice, with a slight Scots accent.
‘It’s ten past nine, Mr Cosgrove.’
Fitz took their photograph.
The camera was virtually silent, but Cosgrove’s head snapped round as the shutter clicked.
Through the viewfinder, Fitz saw a look of rage cross the old man’s face. He saw the man lurch towards him.
He didn’t hang around to see what happened next.
* * *
The Doctor and Anji sat on opposite leather sofas in the reception of the office block, acutely aware there was likely to be, at the very least, a concealed microphone in the room.
The chauffeur had told them to wait here, and that someone would be coming to see them shortly.
Most importantly, they hadn’t been taken outside and shot in the head, which meant their little deception hadn’t been detected.
There was a computer here instead of a receptionist, and their chauffeur had gone back to whatever his other duties were. There was no sign that there was anyone else in the building. There were three doors, all of which remained resolutely closed.
After three or four minutes spent speculating about the chauffeur’s accent, and which part of East Europe he came from, a woman about Anji’s age came through the middle door. She was tall and slim, with long legs. Anji hated her already. She wore a trouser suit, with – as was the fashion – nothing underneath the jacket, and elegant pointed boots.
‘Hello, I’m Baskerville’s assistant, Dee Gordon.’ It was an accent she’d bought in