Doctor Who_ Warchild - Andrew Cartmel [22]
‘Hold it right there. I am not committing myself on this matter, not in any respect.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean I haven’t agreed that your son will be coming here.’
Creed felt himself flush with sweat. School started in a few days. There was nowhere else Ricky could go.
Pangbourne had to accept him. ‘Listen, I don’t know if I should mention this,’ began Creed, ‘but I work at the-’
Pangbourne pre-empted him. ‘Don’t think that where you work makes a blind bit of difference. I know exactly what goes on up there in that white office building on the hill. Up there at the Agency. You lot are no better than the CIA.’
‘Oh, come on, Mr Pangbourne. That’s nasty and untrue.’
Pangbourne ground out his cigar. ‘Well OK. You aren’t corrupt power-crazed idiots. But what are you? You’re not a police force. You’re not the FBI. You don’t like to dress up in funny uniforms, so you’re sure as hell not the military. How would you describe yourselves?’
‘As the good guys,’ Creed found he was smiling despite himself.
‘Very glib. But who do you answer to? Who controls you?’
‘Well, personally, I have to deal with a guy in Washington whom I’ve never met except over the computer.’
Pangbourne sighed. ‘The shallowness of your political awareness troubles me, sir. You seem an intelligent man.
Who pulls on the puppet strings that operate you?’
‘Perhaps I don’t see myself as a puppet, Mr Pangbourne.’
‘But you represent a powerful paramilitary force in this country. What if control of your Agency was to-’
‘Fall into the wrong hands?’
‘Don’t laugh at me, young man. How can such issues not concern you? Indeed, obsess you?’
‘I guess I just like to get on with the real work,’ said Creed.
‘I suppose you do. And I imagine you really do think you’re the good guys. Some would see you as a wedge in our democratic process, one that potentially opens the way to a totalitarian state. Yet there you sit, in your white building on the hill, imagining yourselves as crime-fighting secret agents.
Yes, you do. I know you do. Look at you! I can see it on your face, in that big self-satisfied grin.’
‘Well, crime-fighting secret agent,’ said Creed. ‘You have to admit, it’s a better job description than sewage-maintenance engineer.’
‘But is it a better job? Working in a sewer is probably cleaner.’
Creed felt a sudden pulse of anger towards the older man. It was a dangerous feeling. Keep cool, he told himself.
‘Look, Mr Pangbourne, I’d better be going.’
‘Yes, you better,’ said the man abruptly, turning to his plantings. He called out as Creed made his way back into the school. ‘I’ll see you on Monday.’ It was a command.
Creed wandered back through the school. He couldn’t believe it. Here he was, back walking between high-school lockers again, down the long polish-smelling corridors. And feeling the familiar dread, after all these years, of being summoned to see the principal.
Chapter 8
‘Beautiful evening.’ Roz smiled in the light from the screens.
She forced herself to concentrate on the one big screen directly in front of her, the one that was shaped like a windscreen. She had to concentrate on things.
After all, she was driving.
The airport buildings flashed past. Roz could see the reflection of the big armoured vehicle in the dark windows as it raced by.
Her big armoured vehicle. She was in charge of it now. It had only taken her five minutes to nag Redmond into letting her drive. He still hadn’t told her the exact nature of the state of emergency. Give it another ten minutes of nagging, thought Roz and she smiled.
‘You’ve certainly cheered up,’ said Redmond from the seat beside her.
‘I’m always cheerful. I just didn’t like being press-ganged.’ He was right, though. Roz’s spirits had lifted considerably since she had taken charge of the vehicle. She liked it: she felt both safe and excited here, in the belly of this big metal beast. This was the way tank crews must have felt in the last war.
‘Maybe I was overdoing it when I compared it to being press-ganged,’ said