Chapter 6: Queen Takes Rook

Mel rapped her fingers on the car window, looking around nervously. She didn't like being late as a matter of principle, even if she didn't know what she was actually going to be late for.

The crowd of journalists and paparazzi were still milling around the outside of the Centre, some pressing themselves against the rails, desperately begging for an interview with one of the security guards.

A large hole had been blown in the side of the Victorian building, where a bomb had gone off. Some of the brickwork was still crumbling away, which meant that the whole lot had been placed as 'out-of-bounds' by the local police.

Other than what the Doctor managed to gleam from the papers and the scant few words she'd managed to pick up from others nearby, Mel didn't know much about the Party.

For one, they were certainly controversial, with half of the paper decrying them and the other half worshiping them, which never makes for a good leader in Mel's book. Secondly, this wasn't the first time something like this had happened. The amount of security outside the Centre would rival that of Air Force One, and the press appeared to be reacting not with shock, but with exasperation.

Thirdly, they were wrong.

Mel could still remember the Doctor's reaction to seeing their name on the cover of the paper he'd found on a bench.

'That's not right…' he mumbled, examining every character, letter and word on the cover.

He explained on the way to the station that the Party was never a major player in British Politics this side of the Cuban Missile Crisis, and they most certainly were never in power at this time.

The Doctor rolled up the paper and shoved it in his pocket – in which it fell out of side, as if going down a chute – as he strode towards the train station.

'10.31 to Dibton, perfect!' the Doctor smiled, turning back towards Mel.

' 'Dibton?'

'Lovely little place, I'm sure.'

'Doctor, why are we going to Dibton?'

'Because that's where the Centre is, Mel.' the Doctor sighed, as if he was explaining the simplest of facts to a children. 'Something has changed the course of history vastly, like rewriting a tapestry that's already been made. It can never end well.'

'And this Party, that's at the heart of it all?'

'If not, then they're close.'

'Doctor, what about the TARDIS?'

'She's most likely gotten her way out of the danger. Timeslips, very nasty things for time capsules. I'm sure she'll make her way back when everything's righted itself.'

'I hope you're right.' Mel replied, as she started to walk away. However, she stopped, and returned to the Doctor for a second. 'Doctor?'

'Mel?'

'…Who's to say that this Party isn't a change for the better?'

'Mel…'

'I'm serious, Doctor! What if this government is replacing a worse one, or making this world better because of its existence?'

'That's not the point, Mel,' the Doctor sighed. 'History has to be allowed to run its course, no matter what the cost, or chaos is all that will be left. The tapestry can't be undone after it's sewn.'

'But this isn't history for me. To me, this is the future. Anything could happen between then and now.'

'Mel, look at me.' the Doctor said. Mel did so. 'Promise me you'll be careful. If something here has frightened the TARDIS away, then it could mean something very nasty is incoming. Please? Just promise?'

Mel laughed for a second, before looking back at the Doctor.

'Alright, I promise. I won't change anything.'

'Thank you, Mel.' the Doctor smiled.

And with that, Mel made her way over towards the platform and got on the train.

According to what the Doctor deduced, the Party would've only been established a little after Mel's time, so she couldn't offer an opinion on their validity (or lack thereof).

The train was jam-packed with people, almost all of them reporters, trying to get to the scene of the crime before anyone else managed to steal the story from them. Some were even starting to write the article on the train; Mel looked over one person's shoulder to see the words: 'PARTY CRASHERS' scrawled onto a notepad.

Whilst Mel was travelling towards Dibton, the Doctor was moving in the opposite direction, towards a block of flats in Whitehall. Apparently, he'd seen a book on the way, which had triggered his 'Time Lord Intuition'.

The Doctor had made a quick stop at the bank, withdrawing a slight dent from his untapped UNIT wages, then split the money fifty-fifty. Mel had to pay for train fare, whilst the Doctor needed to get a business card made.

Before they reached the Doctor's bank, Mel was half-tempted to ask about her own bank account. She had part of it in a local bank a few miles outside of Pease Pottage, but the majority of it was in a national, safely tucked away. In all honesty, she didn't want to know what it would reveal.

If it was empty, then she'd know that she came back to present day Earth after finishing her travels, and withdrew whatever money she had left.

If it was the same – adjusted for inflation, of course - she'd know that she never returned to Earth – for one reason or another.

As the train ground to a halt at Dibton Station, the doors slid open silently, and the stampede of visitors charged off of the train, Mel waited behind for a second, letting the flow of people move away. After a minute or so, the carriage was now clear, and Mel could easily make her way onto the platform and out of the station.

Her main priority as she got off of the train was deciding what drink she'd get from the café. Tea was always good, a favourite of hers, but the allure of waking up from the coffee beckoned to her as well. Then there was the treat of hot chocolate to factor into the equation as well…

'Ms Bush?' said a voice, cold and stern, to her right. Mel whipped around, a knee-jerk reaction to hearing the voice.

It came from a man, six feet tall and stick thin, with closely cropped brown hair and piercing brown eyes.

'Yes, that's me.' she said, nodding slightly. 'Who's asking?'

Two other men grabbed her from behind, each of them clasping their hands onto her arms and dragging her across the platform.

Mel started to shout out, yelling for help, but a mere few seconds later, she was thrown into a sleek black car and carted far away from the station.

The engine rumbled as the car sped up and down the country lanes, but the car itself didn't seem to move – you could balance a house of cards on the dashboard, and not even a single ace would lose its balance.

Across from Mel sat a similarly dressed men from the person she met at the station – cropped hair, black suit, pale skin, the works.

'I'm sorry about my colleague, Ms Bush.' he said, removing his reading glasses and rubbing his eyes. He seemed a little older, wiser than the first man, like he was used to cleaning up the latter's messes. 'He can be a little, er…enthusiastic, shall we say? Now, your boss Smith sent us the details about half an hour ago. Here's the details.' he added, passing over a card folder to Mel.

'I see…' Mel started, struggling for something to say.

'We have Mr Chambers in the panic room, which is living up to its name at the moment, I can tell you. We've managed to apprehend the main suspect – Mr Chambers recognised her, and she was at the scene of the incident at the time.'

Each of the words seemed to rush by in a non-stop flow of language, almost all of which evaded Mel. The main continued:

'She's cooped up in the Centre as well. Until we've finished with the interrogation, the bobbies are waiting to take her to prison. We're thinking secret trial and island for her, but the jury's still out.'

The car slowed down suddenly, only crawling ahead. Mel took a look at the front windshield, to find her bearings.

They were approaching a huge house, like the sort of manor house you'd visit on bank holidays, only it had hordes of people outside it, and a chunk of the building taken away on one side. Mel gaped at the spectacle.

'Jones, Cartwright, Bush, clearance 550-444-32A.' the man said through the window to the guard outside the car. As the guard checked the code mentally, she walked over towards the barrier and raised it, permitting the car entry.

The car stopped a few feet away from the door at the side of the house, with a wall of security guards either side. One of the guards opened the car door and Mel was ushered through the ornate, weathered wooden door.

The moment they entered the Centre, the door was slammed shut behind them and bolted with half a dozen thick metal locks, each closing with a heavy clunk. Another man ran up to Mel and half-dragged, half-guided her down the corridors, amongst hundreds of people all dressed in suits, all of them running about in a mad panic.

At last, they reached a corridor, and stopped. A row of guards went down both walls, each armed with a rather bulky pistol and none of them distracted by the spectacle to their side.

Mel looked into one room a few doors away from the guarded corridor. Its door was missing, but the frame was blocked with miles of police tape and 'do not cross' signs. Despite this, she could still glimpse inside.

Almost the entire room was black. A bookshelf lay to one side, with every one of the spines burnt and ruined. A desk sat in the middle of the room, and was now a large pile of ash. Shreds of paper, from of them still smouldering a little, floated in the air, carried by the strong wind getting into via the gaping hole in the wall.

Hanging on the wall away from the door was a banner, once beautiful crimson, but now most of it was eaten away by the flame, leaving only the black bird attached to the frame.

'Just a sec, ma'am…' one of the guides said, released Mel. He walked down the guarded corridor, opening the door a crack and poking his head inside, before shutting the door again and returning to Mel. 'Okay, it's safe. Let's go.'

The first man ahead of Mel, the second a few metres behind her. Clearly, they didn't want her making a run for it – not that she'd know where she was going, right in the middle of the intricate wooden web.

Mel approached the door at the end, and was instructed to stop. The first guard walked through, and held the door opened for Mel, before nodding quickly.

Tentatively and gently, Mel walked towards the door. As soon as she stepped through it, a blaring klaxon sounded, booming down the corridor. Mel ducked for a second, before regaining herself and standing up straight.

'Ma'am, have you got any keys, pens, stuff like that?' the guard asked, holding his hands. He noticed Mel's confused expression, and added: 'There's a metal detector in the doorframe. Please, anything metal.'

Mel dug around in her pockets, and produced a small, jingling felt bag, loaded with the money the Doctor had given her. Apart from that, her pockets were devoid of anything metallic. However, she felt around her neck, and pulled away the TARDIS key, which was hanging on a chain like a necklace.

She lowered the key and coins into the guard's outreached hand, and he walked over to the wall. Pressing against one of the many panels in the wall, it clicked open, revealing a safe embedded in the wall. The keypad beeped with each number that the man pressed, before sliding open, revealing the inside miniature vault.

The man emptied his hands into a small plastic bag inside the vault, before placing the goods amongst a few others inside. The safe and panel shut once again.

'Safety measures.' he said simply, as a way of explaining. 'Now, Mr Chambers is in the panic room.' he added, extending his hand towards the room.

Mel took it as a chance to take in the room. It was a library, bigger than the one in Pease Pottage by a good bit. Thousands of books lined hundreds of shelves, towering over Mel and around the outside of the room, as well as one up-standing shelves scattered neatly on the floor. A quartet of elegant marble pillars held up the room.

The man glared at Mel, impatiently waiting for her to move.

'Ma'am?!'

Mel shot back around, snapping back into the conversation. As he brandished his index finger at the room, she looked around in bewilderment, wondering if there was something invisible she'd missed upon her search.

The man exhaled loudly, the exasperation dripping off of his breath. He strode over to one side of the room, and hooked his fingers onto the spine of two books, about a metre away from each other. Smoothly, he tugged on the right one, the spine leaning out a few inches, before turning to the left one, which came out similarly. Finally, he pulled on the right one again, and the bookshelf clicked.

He stood back some paces as the bookshelf moved, rotating on one side, like the flipper on a pinball machine, only much, much slower.

After it stopped, he felt around the now exposed side of the door, finding a handle and started to pull. The shelf opened completely, revealing a hidden doorway just inside. The panic room.

He turned back to Mel, beckoning for her to follow him. She realised after a few seconds and half-ran across the room towards him, with the second man following behind her. When she got there, the man huffed once more, and stepped through the doorway.

By the time all three of them were through the door, the bookshelf had slid shut again, sealing with a click.

They were stood in a lift, a cube of six by six by six feet. A handful of bulbs implanted in the walls and roof provided a bit of light, but not enough to make the room feel even remotely safe. A lever was at one side, and a ladder on the opposite wall. Mel was particularly interested in the latter, and how the roof and floors around it had small hatches built into them.

'In case of emergency.' the man said, following her gaze.

'A way into the panic room?'

'Or a way out.' the second man grunted, as he pulled on the lever and released it. The lift started to lurch, lowering itself down the shaft. The ladder moved upwards, each rung passing through the slit in the floor and exiting through the slit in the roof. Not the safest lift in the world, thought Mel.

103 rungs later, the lift slammed to a halt. The door moved open, and the pair of guards ushered Mel out of the lift again.

'So this is the panic room?' Mel asked, taking in the environment. It was quite large, brightly lit thanks to ancient lamps hanging from the roof. Cream bricks lined every wall, and several crates were piled up to one side, presumably loaded with long-lasting food and supplies they might've needed.

'No.' the first guard muttered. 'This is the butcher's.'

On a chair, his head in his hands and streams of sweat running down his forehead was a man in a black suit, with neatly trimmed black hair and an expensive watch manacled to his wrist.

'You must be Ms Bush.' he said grimly, without looking up. 'Nice to meet you.'

Shivering slightly, he raised his head from his hands, to take in his visitor.

'Have the, er…have the visitors gone away yet?'

'No, sir.' one of the guards said, from behind Mel. 'We've estimated 3,500.'

'35 hundred!' repeated the man in the suit, with more than a whiff of despair. 'And that's just the ones who could get here!'

'I'm sure they'll get over it soon enough,.' said a woman stood at the back, her arms crossed behind her back. 'They always do.'

A man stood beside her, who looked even younger than Mel, added:

'Yes, that's right, isn't it, Prime Minister?'

Mel's eyes widened. 'Prime…Minister?' she asked in shock and disbelief, feeling the wind being kicked out of her.

'Yes?' the woman asked, leaning slightly towards Mel. 'This is Eric Chambers, the Prime Minister.'

'Does anyone else find it a bit worrying that she doesn't know?' the man asked, a wry smile breaking out on his face.

'That's enough, Oliver.' the Prime Minister, Eric, said, looking back over his shoulder to face him. 'I'm sure Ms Bush will more than live up to her reputation.'

'Depends the reputation, really.' Oliver muttered, thankfully under his voice.

'You can call me Mel, if you like.' Mel said, smiling a little. 'If it'll help relax you, I mean.'

'The only thing that's gonna calm me down,' Eric said 'Is getting rid of that crowd, once and for all. How are you supposed to run a country when you can't even leave the building?!'

'Our main goal today,' the woman interjected 'is making sure that we take care of the bomb threat and track down any assailants that might still be out there.'

'And getting answers out of the one we already have.' Oliver said.

Mel took all this in, placing the card folder from the car on the table beside her.

'So what are we doing?' she asked, looking at the woman.

'You tell us.' the woman replied. 'That's why you're here.'

'I think we should give Mel a couple of minutes,' Eric said, standing up and stretching his legs. 'Give her a chance to mull it all over. I mean, we're hardly going anywhere in a rush, are we?'

'I think that would work out best, yes.' Mel said, smiling a small smile of relief.

'Your boss, Smith.' Oliver asked, pulling out a notepad. 'Where's he?'

'Talking to a writer.' Mel replied in a second, before silently cursing herself.

'A writer?!' the woman asked, cocking her head. 'A head of national security, talking to a writer?!'

'He couldn't say what it was about,' Mel bluffed. 'Official Secrets Act, he said.'

The woman considered this for a second, before slowly nodding her head in acceptance.

'Like that book a few years ago, Who Killed Kennedy?'

'Yes, like that!' Mel agreed, even though she'd never heard of it in her life.

'Alright, then. Did he say which writer?'

Mel summoned the book cover from her memory:

'Naomi Redfern. She wrote Mark of the Bishop.'

'I read that on holiday a few weeks ago.' Oliver said. 'It was awful. Wanted to toss it into the pool.'

'Yes, thank you, Oliver.' Eric snapped. 'Can we get her address, phone number, please?' he asked the guard nearest to him, who nodded and walked towards a computer terminal in one wall. 'If nothing else, we can at least him know that you made it here safely.'

'Yes, I suppose so.' Mel agreed. Outwardly, she managed to maintain a façade of confidence, the feeling that she knew what exactly she was doing. Inwardly, however, she was shaking like an electrocuted leaf.

'We've got it.' the guard stood at the computer said, jotting down a phone number onto a scrap of paper. Next, he picked up the phone, and dialled the number quickly.

Mel, almost praying, urged the Doctor to answer the phone, to provide any help. Even if he told them something as plain as 'Don't put the milk in before the teabag', then it'd help alleviate her nerves at all.

The phone crackled as the other end was picked up.

'Hello?' answered the voice at the other, a woman's voice, shaky and nervous. 'Who is this?'

'Is this Naomi Redfern?' the guard asked bluntly.

'Yes?'

'Is a man called Smith there?'

'Oh. I'm…I'm sorry.' the woman said, her voice quivering. 'I suppose you don't know.'

'What's wrong?' Mel asked, feeling the shiver of worry running up and down her spine.

'It all happened so suddenly…there was nothing I could do…this man, Smith. He's…he's dead.'