Doctor Who_ Timewyrm_ Exodus Part 20

"She's here now," he was saying. "Not the Doctor, just the girl."

"And what has she told you?"

"Nothing. I tried, but even with the mind-amplifier . . . She has a strong will.

Did you see the Fuehrer? Was the Doctor there?"

"I missed them both," said the other voice. It was deep and melodious, full of authority and power. "I was delayed at the Castle. By the time I reached the Chancellery, the Fuehrer was about to leave for Poland. He refused to see me."

"And the Doctor?"

"He seems to have disappeared."

Slow, dragging footsteps began mounting the stairs.

7: GESTAPO.

In the vast anteroom little groups of people stood in worried silence, obviously stunned by the news which Ribbentrop had just broken. Hermann Goering waited watchfully by the door to Hitler's study. When the Doctor tried to slip out without being noticed, Goering clamped a ham-like hand on his shoulder. "Look at poor old Goebbels, Doctor. No one's seen him so silent for years!"

The Doctor followed Goering's gaze and saw Goebbels standing in a corner, staring into s.p.a.ce.

"A word with you, Doctor," said Goering, s.h.i.+fting his grip to the Doctor's arm. "There's a cubbyhole here they let me use."

Goering's office, reached by a march down more endless corridors, was a cubbyhole only in the sense that it was half the size of Hitler's, which made it merely enormous.

Dismissing various secretaries and aides, Goering marched straight to an elaborate drinks cabinet and poured himself a colossal brandy. He looked enquiringly at the Doctor, who shook his head. Goering took a huge swig of brandy. Then he said quietly, "If we lose this war, may G.o.d have mercy on us! And we shall lose - if he remains in charge." He caught the Doctor's look of surprise and laughed. "Don't worry, Doctor, I'm not risking my head, or yours. This office is checked for microphones several times a day."

"Mutual trust is a wonderful thing," murmured the Doctor.

"Oh, we're a happy band of brothers all right! Now, listen to me, Doctor. I have served the Fuehrer loyally for seventeen years. He is a genius.

Unfortunately, he is also a madman. The two often go together I understand?"

He looked enquiringly at the Doctor, who didn't reply.

"The Fuehrer is also a gambler, with a gambler's luck," Goering went on.

"But no one wins forever. There's a time to pick up your winnings and leave the table. And Adolf can't do that! He'll go on raising the stakes till he loses - and we will all lose with him."

Still the Doctor said nothing.

Goering laughed. "You're a cautious one, Doctor. Still, I don't blame you.

The news brought on another fit, didn't it?"

"There was the beginning of a fit - a particularly severe one."

"Which you helped him to control. Don't deny it, Doctor, I saw you. And if you can do that..." Goering poured another slug of brandy. "Hitler is a magician, a spellbinder. The German people will follow him anywhere, even to disaster. If he can be controlled - well and good. If he can't - someone else must take charge."

"Someone like you?"

"If necessary, yes. It would be my duty to the Reich. I need someone close to the Fuehrer," Goering went on. "Someone who can report to me on his condition - and, if it deteriorates beyond control - help me to take the necessary action."

The Doctor stood up. "I must be going."

"We understand each other, then, Doctor?"

"Oh yes, we understand each other. What do you know about the Black Coven?"

Goering looked curiously at him. Just how much did the fellow know?

"You're full of surprises, Doctor! Where did you hear of them?"

"From the Fuehrer."

"They're supposed to be top secret. Something to do with the SS - not my responsibility any more. They harness mystic forces or something - little Heinrich is very keen on all that mumbo jumbo. Why do you ask?"

"I think they may be influencing the Fuehrer's condition - very possibly for the worse."

Goering's eyes gleamed. "You mean Heinrich's using them to try and control the Fuehrer?"

"Something like that."

"I thought as much, he's a sneaky little b.a.s.t.a.r.d. See what you can find out, Doctor - but be careful. Our little chicken-farmer's come a long way. He controls the police, the SS and the Gestapo - and if they get their hands on you, even I won't be able to help."

Moving hurriedly away from the door, Ace sat down again at the table, and started leafing through one of the books. The footsteps came closer and closer, and at last an extraordinary figure shuffled into the room. It was the tall, white-haired, white-bearded old man she had glimpsed on stage at the Party rally and seen later, talking to the Doctor.

He was m.u.f.fled from head to toe in a voluminous cloak. He moved quickly, but somehow painfully too, with the aid of a silver-headed cane, scuttling along with an odd, spider-like gait.

"How do you do, my dear," he said. "I am Doctor Kriegslieter." The deep melodious voice was that of a much younger man and Ace wondered what had happened to Doctor Kriegslieter. An accident, some terrible disease?

Uncannily, he seemed to read her mind. "You are wondering about the reasons for my somewhat extraordinary appearance? It is due to a misfortune I suffered at birth -or rather, at rebirth."

"I'm sorry," muttered Ace vaguely.

Doctor Kriegslieter waved the apology aside. "This is a most unexpected pleasure. Indeed I'm only sorry your uncle can't be with us. Unfortunately, the Doctor seems to have dropped out of sight."

"I expect he'll pop up," said Ace, trying not to sound worried. "He usually does."

"He does indeed," agreed Doctor Kriegslieter. "Sometimes with the most disconcerting results."

"You sound as if you know him," said Ace curiously.

"We met once, long ago and far away. In a sense I owe my present condition to the Doctor. I can't tell you how much I look forward to our reunion."

"But if it happened at birth. . . "

"At rebirth," corrected Kriegslieter gently. He glanced at the open books on the table. "And what do you think of our little library?"

Ace realized she ought to say something vague and tactful - but she just couldn't do it. "I think it's the biggest load of rubbish I've ever seen.

Dangerous rubbish."

The sneering man, who had followed Kriegslieter into the room, looked shocked. He went over to the table and started restoring the books to their places on the shelves.

Doctor Kriegslieter, on the other hand, seemed amused by her angry reply.

"I couldn't agree more. Absolute rubbish - bolstered up by ludicrous sham scholars.h.i.+p. Aryan blood indeed! Their precious Aryan race doesn't even exist - it's a myth. And even if it did, would it matter? What's the point of trying to prove that one breed of human is better than another? It's like trying to prove that a flea is more pure-blooded than a louse!"

Ace waved a hand around the room. "Then why bother with all this?"

"I'm afraid it's what the public wants."

"What public?"

"My public - which consists largely, I'm afraid, of Reichsfuehrer Heinrich Himmler and his merry men of the SS." He laughed again. "Himmler has an endless interest in all this racial mumbo jumbo - and in every other kind of mumbo jumbo come to that. Spiritualism, old teutonic folk myths, divination by pendulum-swinging, astrology . . . You name it, and little Heinrich will pay you a fortune to investigate it."

"You're not trying to tell me you're just in it for the money?"

He chuckled. "You're quite right, my dear, the money is useful, but it's not my prime motive."

"Then what is?"

"Oh, influence, shall we say?"

"You mean power."

"If you like. Himmler's a gullible fool, but he's the most powerful man in the Third Reich."

"Except for Hitler."

"Indeed. Which brings us back to the Doctor. You're sure you don't know where he is?"

"No, I don't." Ace started to edge towards the door. "I think I'd better go and look for him."

With spider-like speed, Kriegslieter moved to bar her way. "No, don't do that, my dear. I've a better idea."

"Oh, yes?"

"Simply stay here with us. The Doctor's bound to come and find you, in time."

Ace shook her head. "I like my idea better."

"But I don't," said Doctor Kriegslieter softly.

Ace measured the distance to the door. If she just barged Kriegslieter aside, then she'd only have to get past the other one...

"Please move out of the way," she said politely. "I'm leaving now."

Doctor Kriegslieter raised his silver-headed cane, and Ace saw that the tip was glowing red like a giant cigar. He raised the cane and brought it down in a slas.h.i.+ng motion. One of the wooden chairs between the two of them simply fell apart in two equal halves, as if divided vertically by an invisible chainsaw.

"A fairly simple piece of laser technology," said Kriegslieter. "You first encountered it in Munich, if you remember. Sixteen long years ago for me, but perhaps rather less for you?"

Ace remembered the energy beam that had scorched the Doctor's ear, the scuttling figure vanis.h.i.+ng behind the tree.

"Please don't move, my dear," said Doctor Kriegslieter. "I'd far rather keep you in one piece - at least till the Doctor arrives. I've waited a long time for this moment."

Ace stood very still. By the time she realized that the other man had somehow slipped round behind her, it was far too late.

Quite unaware that the last hours of peace were ticking away, the Doctor's chauffeur was dozing in the driving seat. The front window was wound down and he was enjoying the warmth of the sun. He might be there for minutes or for hours, he didn't know and he didn't care. Driving VIPs around was a cushy enough number, and Martin Bormann was a decent if fussy boss. With only the mildest interest he saw another black limousine, much like his own, draw up and park close by. Two men got out of it and approached him. They wore identical black leather coats and black soft hats and they had the same impa.s.sive faces and cold, emotionless eyes.

They looked at the Doctor's driver. "Name and business?"

The driver didn't argue. He knew who they were. "Horst Schultz, Martin Barman's office. I just brought Herr Bormann and another pa.s.senger."

"Pa.s.senger's name?"

"I didn't get it."

They looked at him.

"Honest, he just came out of the Adlon with Herr Bormann." With sudden inspiration, the driver added, "Herr Bormann called him Herr Doktor, that's all I know, honest. Little dark bloke, nothing special about him."

The two men looked at each other. The first one nodded, as if confirming something. The second man said, "That him?"

Schultz craned his neck out of the window and saw the Doctor coming down the steps. He nodded dumbly. He watched the two men go up to the Doctor and fall in on either side of him. He heard the Doctor's voice. "What is the meaning of this? I have been visiting the Chancellery at the personal request of the Fuehrer. I have just come from a subsequent conference with Reichsmarshal Goering himself."

The little feller had plenty of spirit, thought the driver but the two men didn't seem to be impressed by all the name-dropping.

"Papers!" said the first one impa.s.sively.

The Doctor searched through his pockets and produced a pa.s.s that Bormann had provided.

The man studied it. "You are the Herr Doktor Johann Schmidt?"

"Excellent! I see you can read. Then perhaps you can see that the pa.s.s is issued by Martin Bormann, Secretary to the Fuehrer?"

The man returned the pa.s.s. "Get in the car, Herr Doktor," he said, in a bored voice. "You're coming with us."

"On what authority?"

The second man took a black leather folder from his pocket, and flipped it open to show the Doctor a silver swastika badge. "Gestapo," he said.

The Doctor nodded thoughtfully, followed him to the second car and got in the back. The Gestapo man followed him.

The other Gestapo man leaned in the window of the Doctor's car. "You didn't see anything, right?" he said softly. "Your pa.s.senger didn't turn up, that's all you know. Unless you'd like to pay a visit to PrinzAlbrechtstra.s.se?"

Schultz shook his head dumbly, his throat dry with terror. The man gave a jerk of his thumb. The Doctor's driver put the car into gear and roared off at top speed.