Doctor Who_ Trading Futures - Lance Parkin [5]
‘Doctor!’
‘Hello there.’
Fitz turned at the sound of the familiar voice.
He was carrying a briefcase, a small, silver one. Very expensive. His hair was wet.
‘You have a fish in your pocket,’ Fitz observed.
The Doctor handed it over to him. ‘So I do. Have you eaten?’
* * *
Chapter Two
A Case for the Doctor
The jet‐black Saab had abandoned any pretence that it was just happening to be passing along the same mountain road. Now it was in pursuit.
Malady pulled her Ford Panther down a gear and squeezed another ten kilometres an hour from it. From a few glances in her mirror over the last few minutes, she’d worked out there were two men in the car, both of them made from the same mould – heavy‐set, unsmiling, straight from central casting.
Her passenger, Garvin, was looking nervous, he was clutching his laptop. ‘They’re on to us,’ he whispered.
‘Don’t worry, that’s what I’m here for. You concentrate on enhancing that image.’
The driver of the Saab was good, though, and she was surprised the EZ could still make cars like that. Perhaps it was just prejudice, but she thought a generation of safety legislation had emasculated European cars, made them into little more than shopping trolleys with lawnmower engines.
‘How did the EZ know we were watching them? How did they get a car out here so fast? They probably think we sunk that Manta.’
‘They aren’t the EZ. The Union are more efficient than this.’
There were a lot of talented people in the Union, and they’d always been careful to have enough ‘hotspots’ to act as training grounds for their military. If she’d been marked by the EZ, she’d have been picked off by some Kosovan sniper, or some Frenchman or Irishman would have stuck a bomb under her car. Was it one of the various Mafias? The Russians were keeping their gangs out of the EZ at the moment. The Italians were meant to be too busy fighting each other.
‘So who is it?’
‘It could be any number of people. It could even someone on our side who doesn’t realise we’re the good guys. I’m not going to stop to ask.’
The Saab was lurching forwards.
‘They’re making their move.’
It was inches away from her rear bumper.
She picked up speed. Her car ought to be faster, and she was confident she was the better driver.
Her eyephones were ringing. She used one hand to take them out of her shirt pocket and slip them on, keeping the other hand clamped to the steering wheel.
There was a click from inside the arm, and the retinal scanner whirred into life. She let it read her.
The CIA seal flickered up, only partially blocking the view of the curve in the road ahead. She had both hands back on the wheel, but the distraction had cost her a little time.
‘Go ahead,’ said a computerised voice, an autosec by the sound of it.
The man at the other end of the line didn’t waste any time. ‘CNN are reporting an EZ patrol boat just exploded five miles from your position, Malady.’
‘It wasn’t a patrol boat, it was a Manta. And it was nothing to do with me, Control.’
‘No? I’m tempted to ask why not.’
‘Jonah Cosgrove was in the boat, sir.’
A pause.
‘And is my opposite number…’ He was clearly struggling for the euphemism. You’d think they’d come more easily. ‘…inoperative?’
‘I don’t know, sir. They had a man overboard, then the pilot ejected, then the boat self‐destructed. No sign of Cosgrove. They were attacked.’
Another pause. ‘Not by us.’
‘Sir, if it was us, we probably just started World War –’
‘Not by us,’ Control repeated firmly. ‘You and Garvin are the only two people on the island.’
Hard left. The Saab was still almost on top of them.
‘Have you been able to track their course?’
‘Of course not.’
‘Find Cosgrove. Find out what he was doing here. He’s not left his desk in London for nearly twenty years. Jonah is one of the most shadowy of the European shadow government. He’s involved in something big. Find out what, Malady.’
‘Understood.’
The eyephone screen faded.
‘Problem?’ Garvin asked.
‘Not the sort of thing a techie can deal with. How’s that image?’
‘It’s kinda difficult to concentrate.’
The back axle