Doctor Who_ Warlock - Andrew Cartmel [105]
Among the suitcases and boxes on the truck were the body bags that had been flown over for the remains of Raymond and Chrissie Bowman, before it was realized that there wasn’t anything left of them to take home for burial. The bags lay there draped across suitcases, flat and empty. They were made of heavy‐duty plastic in the inevitable black with the IDEA logo on them. They reminded Creed of Anna. They’d put her in a bag like that and he’d looked down as they zipped it shut and then he’d walked out of the room, outwardly calm but knowing deep inside that his own life was over, left behind in that dark vinyl bag with her.
Now, sitting here on this English airstrip watching the lights of planes passing overhead in the night, Creed felt weightless with sadness.
‘Is something wrong, son?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Is there anything you want to talk about?’
‘I think I understand what’s expected of me.’
The old Texan sighed. ‘I knew there was something wrong. You don’t get as long in the tooth as this old hound without learning a few things about people. And I can tell you’re troubled, son. I can tell by the way you talk, the way you look, everything. Now tell me about it. Is it the business in Canterbury?’
‘Well, what do you expect?’ said Creed.
‘The shit hit the fan, that’s for sure,’ sighed the big Texan. There was the flinty rasp of an old‐fashioned cigarette lighter in the darkness. The old man’s face lit up momentarily as he applied a small flame to his cigar. Then there was just the afterglow of phantom colour on Creed’s vision and the glowing red tip of the cigar in the night. The old man grinned at him in the cherry glow. ‘I trust we’re far enough away from that aviation fuel.’ He cleared his throat and his expression became serious again. ‘About Canterbury, son. No one knew that was going to happen. No one wanted it to happen. We just didn’t know how dangerous that fellow was. Webster finally figured it out and he bust a gut trying to get to you and warn you. Too bad he didn’t get there in time, but that’s just the way it goes.’
‘We knew we had to be careful, though. You told us that when you briefed us.’
‘And you took notice of it. I know you did. Both Artie and Webster told me. They saw you trying to stop Raymond Bowman. But that was a strong‐headed boy, as stubborn as a mule. You couldn’t stop him. He insisted on putting the handcuffs on the fellow.’ The old man puffed on his cigar and exhaled aromatic smoke into the night. ‘Raymond Bowman was a fool. Now he’s a dead fool.’
‘There are a lot of other people dead, too. And I’m not sure it’s worth it.’
The Texan turned and looked at Creed. ‘I didn’t have you figured for a quitter, son.’
‘I didn’t have myself figured for a kidnapper, either.’
The big man winced, his wrinkled face folding up sadly in the red glow of the cigar. He breathed another lazy mouthful of smoke and peered at Creed from dark, sunken eyes. ‘I don’t think that’s a fair word to use.’
‘No? This girl Justine hasn’t committed any crime.’
‘Not that we know about.’
‘And neither has her husband. Now we’re forcing her to help us while we hold him hostage.’
‘That ain’t such a fair word, either.’
‘What else do you call it? We’ve got him floating in a life‐support tank doped to the eyeballs.’
‘And from what we know of the guy, I’d say that’s the safest damned place for him.’
‘Look, what happened in Canterbury was bad beyond anything I’ve ever experienced.’
‘I know, I know.’
‘But I could just about live with it if I’d been doing my job.’
‘Which is what?’
‘Busting crooks. But these people are civilians.’
‘Creed, listen. This is a war we’re fighting here. And sometimes in a war civilians get hurt. That’s hard, but that’s just the way it is. What are we supposed to do? Give up? If we lose the war the enemy takes control. The scum