Doctor Who_ Trading Futures - Lance Parkin [38]
He laughed, but the sound was cold, quite disturbing.
He pulled hard left, the car aquaplaned a little, but turned like he’d hoped it would.
‘Who are you working for?’ Malady asked. ‘You’re British, but –’
‘I’m not British,’ the Doctor told her abruptly.
‘English. Whatever you call yourselves these days.’
‘I’m not working for anyone.’
‘You’re in this for yourself? Is that it? You’re hoping to get this “time machine” for yourself.’
‘No thanks, I’ve already got one, you see.’
She believed him. Malady realised that at some point she’d accepted there was a time machine. Now she accepted there were at least two. When had that happened? Why would she believe such a stupid thing to believe?
‘Doctor, if we’re going to work together, then I need –’
He turned to look at her, without slowing the car. ‘No. You can follow me around if you want. You can even help me. But anything you “need”, you’ll have to find on your own.’
He slammed his foot down, the car squished to a halt.
‘What’s that?’
‘You don’t know?’
‘I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t know.’
Malady laughed. ‘Now, Doctor, you don’t expect me to believe that, do you?’
‘What is it?’
The robot was about eight feet tall, roughly humanoid – although with its long arms and short legs, it looked more like a gorilla than a human.
‘It’s a RealWar teletroop. A class three.’
‘I see…’
‘You must have seen them on the news. RealWar are always boasting about them.’
‘They have EZ logos. So they’re a European company? Do the Americans have anything similar?’
‘RealWar are a Russian corporation, and they’re happy to sell to both sides.’
‘You say that with a sneer, but isn’t that just free enterprise in operation? They’ve found a gap in the market and exploited it.’
‘Now who’s talking with a sneer?’
The Doctor smiled. ‘It’s excellent workmanship.’
Two of the robots were working together – one holding up a building, its back against the wall, the other holding up its arm to act as a bridge to the adjacent building, which was structurally intact. There were half a dozen people hurrying over to safety.
‘For the prices they charge…’
‘How far away will the operators be?’
‘They could be working from the other side of the world. In this case, there will be a base camp close by.’
The Doctor nodded.
* * *
Anji held the telephone tentatively.
‘Is anything the matter?’ Dee asked.
Anji shook her head, unable to think of anything to say.
‘What time is it in Washington?’ she asked, finally.
‘Worried about waking the President up?’ Baskerville chuckled.
‘Er… what are they? Six hours behind? So it would be…’
‘My dear, don’t you think the prospect of America getting its hands on a time machine is worth interrupting his breakfast for?’
‘Of course.’
‘How would you normally contact him?’ Dee asked.
‘Er…’
Baskerville waved his hand. ‘Don’t worry about that, Dee. Anji, would you like this conversation to be in private?’
‘Yes. That’s it.’
‘Go to your cabin, if you want.’
‘Thank you.’ She got up, and walked over to the stairs that led below deck.
She’d been allocated a small cabin, second on the left. There were six cabins in total. As far as she could gather, Baskerville and Dee’s relationship was platonic. She’d not seen much of the East European guy, but he didn’t share with Dee – or Baskerville, for that matter. And, somewhere on this yacht, was – she presumed – the time machine itself, removed from the office block before disaster hit.
Anji took out her mobile, rang directory enquiries – she’d asked for the operator, but it turned out to be a fully automated service, and asked for a number for the President of the United States, saying she was CIA. The service automatically connected her, and the phone started to ring.
She assumed the cabin was bugged, at the very least. Tonight, she’d be undressing under the bedsheets, and probably showering in her bikini. It was like she was a contestant on Big Brother. She’d have to be careful how she