Doctor Who_ Warchild - Andrew Cartmel [14]
‘I got the old bat’s press-gang speech,’ said Roz in the sudden silence. ‘That’s all.’
‘So did that clear matters up?’
‘Not really, since I don’t know what a press-gang is.’
‘Well,’ said Redmond, playing with the catch on his seat-belt, ‘in the bad old days of the Royal Navy, back when they were in wooden ships and using sails and that, they had a manpower crisis. No one wanted to join, not surprising since it was such an unpleasant job. Away for years on end and dreadful conditions and so on. So they sent out gangs to force men to join. To kidnap them, if you like. They’d go into pubs and grab unlucky “volunteers” and drag them off to spend years at sea.’
‘And those were the press-gangs.’
‘Right.’
‘And now I’ve been press-ganged.’
‘Well, don’t feel too bad about it,’ said Redmond. ‘So have I’.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Same as you. I was coming through Heathrow last week, picking up a connecting flight, Aer Lingus to Belfast.
But I never made it. They lifted me.’ He shrugged and smiled again. ‘And here I am.’
‘But why did they choose you? Why me?’
‘They’re picking up anyone with combat or policing experience. If they ran you through a computer would they pick up anything like that in your personal history?’
‘I guess so,’ said Roz. ‘So what does the bag-lady have to do with it?’
‘Mrs Woodcott? She prepares the short-list of candidates as they come through passport-control.’
‘Prepares it how?’
‘Well,’ Redmond hesitated. ‘They say she’s psychic.’ He smiled an apologetic smile.
‘Bullshit.’
‘No, really. Like a water diviner, except instead of water she detects likely candidates. She gets paid a bounty for every warm body she provides.’
‘Provides for what?’
Redmond turned away for a moment and typed commands into the computer. He listened carefully to the change in engine note as he checked system-status graphics on the screen. ‘Well,’ he said. ‘You might say it’s in a state of emergency.’
‘What is?’
‘London.’
‘You mean the whole city?’ said Roz.
‘Just the city at the moment, but there are rumours that it’s spreading into the surrounding countryside.’ Redmond’s face had a strained, sour expression. Roz got the strange feeling that he was trying not to look frightened. ‘I hope those rumours aren’t true,’ he said. ‘I hope we can at least contain it here. I’d hate to think of it spreading into the countryside.’
‘What spreading? Contain what?’
‘You’re going to have to see for yourself.’
‘I’m getting very sick of this,’ said Roz. ‘If there is a state of emergency why haven’t I heard anything about it? Why isn’t the news full of it?’
‘Because it’s a secret. The government’s keeping it under wraps.’
‘Why?’
‘Because they’re scared,’ said Redmond.
Chapter 5
As soon as Amy Cowan had joined the Agency, Creed knew she was trouble.
Not that she failed to measure up in terms of her abilities.
If anything, she exceeded his expectations, handling the work with confidence and savage glee at solving a difficult problem. This should have gladdened Creed’s heart. Amy was very good at the job. Smart and young, with the initiative to sort out complications almost before they happened. She soon got a feel for her duties and organized a routine for handling them that put her predecessor in the shade.
But Creed knew she was trouble from the first moment he’d seen her.
It had been a bright winter day with a beautiful endless blue sky extending above an undisturbed mantle of fresh snow that spread across the farmland surrounding the Agency building.
Amy was half an hour late. It was her first morning and Creed was trying to decide whether this was sloppiness, a genuinely laid back attitude, or an enraging challenge to his personal authority, when Amy came barging in through the glass doors of the office.
She was panting, breath still steaming. She was so flustered at being late that she sat down at Creed’s desk without taking off her arctic survival parka. Snow melted on it as they talked and a gradually growing puddle formed on the carpet