Doctor Who_ Loving The Alien Part 12

McBride, however, was a long way from his desk. He was flat on the floor in Mullen's hospital room, drunk. Mullen was above him on the bed, drunk.

At some stage he'd hit the liquor store, pa.s.sing the bottles up through Mullen's window to avoid the prying eyes of nurses. He hadn't moved for the past hour.

'They've been like it all afternoon, doctor.' The nurse outside the door sounded anxious. McBride and Mullen started to giggle.

'They've been noisy, disruptive, told me to... "something" off. We should call the police.'

'I am the b.l.o.o.d.y police!' shouted Mullen. 'Now do as I told you and f-'

66.'So I haven't gone mad then!' The young pilot sounded relieved and angry. 'They told me I'd imagined it. I'd had some sort of breakdown after Tom Kneale died. They haven't let me out of here since.'

'Oh, you're quite sane, Captain. And this is definitely the first time we've met.'

'Definitely.'

'Then I can confirm you have an absolute double lying in a hospital in London. He'd been in a rocket crash.'

O'Brien slumped into a chair, dumbstruck. 'They even had me seeing a shrink'

'A psychiatrist?'

'He came down from Harley Street to help me through the trauma of the crash. He said I was in a delusional state that I felt guilty that Tom had died and not me. You see, I'd almost gone in his place. He had a bit of a cold, but he still wanted to go. In the end we flipped a coin.'

'Your psychiatrist suggested that you'd imagined hearing yourself on the radio.'

'Yup.'

'What else has he said to you?' For some reason the Doctor was getting goose-pimples.

'Nothing much. He's old. A bit doolally himself, if you ask me. I do most of the talking. To be honest, I make a lot of stuff up. Glad of the company, you see. I think he knows, but he indulges me. He seems to Spend more time with Drakefell than me but then Drakefell really needs it.'

'Yes... I'll be having a word with Dr Drakefell,' the Doctor murmured.

'Doctor, what's going on? Who's this guy pretending to be me?

Some kind of Russian plant?'

'No, I'm afraid it's much more serious than that.'

O'Brien looked suddenly wary. 'Hey should I be talking to you?'

'I'm probably the only person in the whole place who'll tell you the truth...'

O'Brien nodded his head.

'So tell me, what was the launch really all about?'

'Oh...' O'Brien shrugged. 'There were a few experiments we had to carry out, but the biggie was the satellite launch. No one was supposed to know about that.'

'Was it a spy satellite?'

'Oh, yeah. Really advanced. There's a top secret project, been on the go a while. Some new technology... I don't know much about it. But 67 the rocket had some weird new piloting mechanisms. It was like learning from scratch. And the satellite was like nothing even the Yanks had developed. They loved it. They jumped on it.'

'Something went wrong, though, didn't it?'

'The rocket exploded. It was huge it sent all our meters off the scale. Took the satellite with it. Had to be a Soviet missile.'

'But they found no trace of one.'

'No.'

'And the Waverider?'

'Crashed in the sea. How it survived I can't imagine.'

'I see... Now tell me, did you lose radio contact with Colonel Kneale at all?'

'Just after the explosion, yes. For quite a few minutes.'

'And whose voice was coming through when contact was re-established?'

He hesitated.' It was kind of hard to say at first the signal was a mess, but... No, if I'm honest, I knew right away. It was mine, all the way down.' He shook his head in bafflement.

There was a knock at the door.

'Captain O'Brien?'

'That's Drakefell,' O'Brien whispered to the Doctor. 'No jam for supper now.'

'Would you open the door, please?'

'Go on,' the Doctor said. 'I need to talk to him anyway.'

O'Brien opened the door. Beyond it stood Drakefell, puffing nervously at a thin cigar that had gone out. At his back were half a dozen soldiers.

'You know the rules, Captain. No unauthorised visitors on site. The same rules for you as for everyone else.'

'Everyone else is allowed to leave the G.o.dd.a.m.n grounds! I can't go beyond my garden wall!'

'Would you ask your visitor to step outside, please?'

'With pleasure!' The Doctor sprang forward, hat doffed, hand extended. You're Dr Drakefell. I recognise you from the television.'

'The question is, who are you?' Drakefell retorted. 'And what are you doing here?'

'Well, actually, I came to see you.'

Rita crept up to the little pink cottage on the outskirts of Kennington, just as she had when she had photographed Ace and her hunky friend delivering their package. She'd been quite unable to sit and wait. She knew they had to find the girl, and this was one of only two leads they 68 had one of two places they knew she'd been.

Rita figured that maybe, if the girl had accidentally b.u.t.ted in on some Russian spy ring, maybe they'd s.n.a.t.c.hed her.

She slipped through the undergrowth and peered in through a window Just an ordinary cottage. Rather quaint. A bit old-fas.h.i.+oned.

'Can I help you?'

Rita spun round. The old lady she had photographed taking the package. She was smiling helpfully.

'I was looking for someone. A young woman.'

'Well, I'm afraid there's only me here, and I haven't been young in a very long time.'

'She was here with a young guy. He was delivering a package.'

The woman looked thoughtful.

'Yes... Yes, I vaguely recall... I'm afraid I didn't speak to her.' She seemed to gather herself. 'Would you like to come in for a cup of tea?'

Rita knew she shouldn't. To the best of her knowledge this old lady was a Russian courier. She couldn't resist it.

'Yes,' she said, 'that would be nice.'

She was ushered through into a low-ceilinged, uneven-walled, thoroughly charming living room. A hand-knitted blanket covered the back of the old settee, a ma.s.sive oak dresser hunched under heavy beams filling one wall. China cups and horse-bra.s.ses lined a st.u.r.dy, if uneven, wooden staircase rising from the far end. A vase of chrysanthemums on the windowsill. Dead quaint.

'May I know your name?' the old woman said.

'Uh... Jane Smith,' said Rita, scanning the room. No obvious signs of the girl... that weird jacket she wore...

'Emily Desmond,' the old woman said. 'Miss.'

Where might they be keeping the girl? Upstairs.

'It's a lovely place you have here.'

'It's small, but it suits me. Do have a seat.'

The old woman bustled through a doorway. Maybe Rita could slip up now.

'China or Indian?' she called back.

'I'm sorry?'

'The tea.'

The words barely registered with Rita. She felt a sudden, hot shudder.

Her eyesight blurred for a second.

'The tea, dear. Are you all right in there?'

'Yes... I'm fine,' said Rita.

She sat down anyway. She was covered in cold sweat. She tried to recall what her host had asked.

69.'Uh, the tea... just the normal kind will do fine.' Rita couldn't understand the Brits' obsession with the stuff. Tea was tea.

The girl...

Unsteadily Rita got to her feet and poked her head around the kitchen door.

'Can I use your bathroom?'

The kitchen was empty. Emily was gone.

She had to take this chance. Rita hurried back across the living room and up the stairs. What was the girl's name...?

'Uh... Ace? Are you up here? It's OK, I'm sort of with your friend, the Doctor...'

Silence. Three doors.

She opened each. Three bedrooms. All empty. Tiny cupboards.

Nowhere to stash a prisoner. There wasn't even an attic s.p.a.ce this floor rose unceilinged up to the thatched roof-beams.

Maybe they'd killed her the Doctor had said she was going to be shot. Rita swallowed hard.

There was a newspaper on a little table in the third bedroom. The The Herald Herald. Rita glanced down at the headline.

ROYAL FAMILY RETURN FROM TRIUMPHANT EMPIRE TOUR.

Today the King and Queen and Princesses Elizabeth and Margaret returned from the final leg of their Grand Imperial Tour to be greeted returned from the final leg of their Grand Imperial Tour to be greeted by rapturous crowds at Southampton. HMY by rapturous crowds at Southampton. HMY Britannia Britannia made the journey made the journey from India in record time - from India in record time - Rita was puzzled. The King had been dead eight years. One of the two princesses was now Queen in her own right. But the paper felt new It was dated 26 November 1959.

The day before yesterday.

'Just... Doctor.'

'Yes.'

Drakefell sighed.

'Don't make things difficult, please.'

'I'd say things were already difficult, wouldn't you?'

They were facing one another across the desk in Drakefell's office, which had once, in the house's grand old days, clearly been a broom cupboard. The Doctor was flanked by two soldiers.

'Send the soldiers away, Dr Drakefell,' the Doctor said, low and purposeful. 'You and I need to talk before things become any more difficult.'