Part 2: Playing the Game
Chapter 9: Battle Plans
Slowly, Mel opened her eyes, frightened of the spectacle in front of her. After a few seconds, her vision cleared, and she was able to see what had just happened.
In front of her, still on the table was the suitcase, with the wires still in place and parts perfectly lined up. The timer was still in its bed of machinery, and the counter was still flashing red.
But it wasn't beeping.
Gently, Mel raised the counter. In bright red numerals, it read the numbers 0. 0. 1. One second to go before it blew. One second away from oblivion.
Mel found herself sighing in giddy relief, most likely her first breath drawn since the bomb was revealed. Upon closer inspection, she saw that a single wire of the bomb had been snapped, torn into two.
A wire her hands were wrapped around just a moment ago.
'How did you…?' asked the woman.
'I guessed.' replied Mel. 'Well, there wasn't much that could go wrong, was there?'
'No, I suppose not!' laughed Eric, who had put his hands on his knees to support himself. The adrenaline was fading from his system, and it was already starting to show.
'So what do we do now?' the woman said, as she started to examine the bomb.
'I'd be careful with that bomb, if I were you.'
'Thank you, Miss Bush, but I think I can handle a few wires.'
'A few wires attached to a load of C4.' Eric muttered. 'We're still stuck down here, aren't we?'
'I'm afraid so, yes.' Mel replied. She paused for a second, then added: 'How large is this chamber?'
'The whole shelter?' the woman replied. '10 by 10 feet, I'd say. There's a chemical loo and a storeroom in the back. Why?'
'Just a thought,' Mel started 'but what we need is a distraction, isn't it? I thought we could take out the explosives, then use the detonator as a flash, distract the guards.'
'It won't work.' The woman sighed. 'They're too far up. We'd have to climb all the way up the shaft, then toss the bomb through the door and get back down before it blew us to Kingdom Come. That is, of course, presuming the guards didn't shoot us on sight.'
'She's right.' agreed Eric. 'It won't work.'
'It's just an idea…' Mel said.
About two miles away from the Centre, a black car rolled down the country late, its tinted windows shielding the cargo from any prying eyes.
Inside, Oliver checked his watch, before pulling out the walkie-talkie. They'd made specific plans not to use phones in any way – rather, they chose disposable and less traceable devices.
'What's happened?' he spoke into it, raising it to his mouth.
'We're not sure, sir.' came the crackled reply.
'What the hell do you mean, you're not sure?!' Oliver half-shouted. 'Did it blow up or not?'
'We don't know. We're sending someone down to investigate now, sir.'
'Make it quick!' Oliver snapped, before flicking off the walkie-talkie and tossing it onto the seat beside him. 'Okay, here's what we're going to do.' He said to the driver, pulling out a notepad. 'Drive on to Newsbury, drive past any police cars. This is the PM's car, so they'll have word about the bomb and let us past no questions asked. Once we're in Newsbury, we'll rendezvous with the others. Got that?'
No reply came from the front seat, and Oliver waited for a few seconds.
'Alright, then.' He said, mostly to himself. As the green countryside rushed past the car window, the black tint giving it the veneer of twilight, Oliver watched the blur passing continuously.
Once he was in Newsbury, he'd meet with the others, before getting the false passport and disguise, and making a run for it. The borders'd be too closely monitored this soon after the bomb, but it'd give him some time to prepare. He'd take the passport and reach Calais, and then he'd be free. Ever since Chambers withdrew from the E.U., most of Europe couldn't give a monkey's about Britain.
Hazily, he saw a road sign zoom past the car, just for a second, but he managed to catch it – Newsbury was to the right. A moment or so later, the car veered left sharply, forcing Oliver against the door.
'Are you blind?!' he ordered. 'Newsbury is that way!' He pointed to the right, emphasising his point.
Still no reply came from the front. Frustrated, Oliver grabbed the two headrests, pulling himself forward. He remained in the squatting position, poking his head between the seats and turned to face the driver. Angrily, he shouted:
'What d'you think you're-!' he started, red-faced and brow crumpled. But then he stopped. Just in front of him, was nobody.
The driver's seat was completely empty, and the passenger seat to the left. The steering wheel tilted itself minutely, following the curve of the country road precisely, whilst the accelerator pedal pressed itself down. The car jolted forwards, and Oliver was sent flying backwards.
As he crashed into the seat behind him, he scrambled for the door handle, trying desperately to open it. But it wouldn't budge.
He cried for help, banging his open hand on the tinted black window, trying to shatter it with all his might. But it did no good.
From the outside, a silent, calm black car sped by, almost a blur. As it travelled down the lane, it gradually faded into nothingness, leaving only its shadow behind.
'Sir? Are you there? Sir!'
Henderson sighed, clicking the walkie talkie off with as much aggression as humanly possible. He'd been trying to contact Oliver every couple of seconds, but there'd been no reply.
With a hefty scoff, Henderson turned to look down the corridor. Nobody was coming. He was alone. Gently, he pulled out the pack of gum, before popping a single one into his mouth. They'd weren't supposed to chew on the job, but it was only ever going to be a part-time deal. Especially now they'd blown half of the place up.
It had been Oliver's idea, as well, to keep in contact. When they were moving from phase three, evacuation, it was vital that they each knew where each other was supposed to be – they could hardly call for help if they got lost. Anonymity was their advantage, but it strayed dangerously close to being their drawback.
Crowds of police officers were now dashing about the place, some armed, some pacifists. The crowd outside had mostly been herded away by this point, having gotten their snaps and given up on the hope of an interview. Only the diligent few remained, clinging onto the dream of that front cover story.
Henderson spat out the gum, having now finished with it. It landed on the wall opposite, amongst a collection of elegant wooden finery and antique carvings. Bullseye.
'Any word?' asked Fergus, as he walked down the corridor to meet Henderson. With light ginger hair forming a messy nest on the top of his head, Fergus was half a foot shorter than Henderson, but easily twice his weight.
'No, nothing yet.' Henderson replied. 'I've tried nine times now.'
'Maybe it's broken?'
'Doubt it. We checked all of them dozens of times before this morning. Out of range?'
'He said they're good until the border, at least! Unless he's got a secret warp engine, I think we're fine.'
'So what, then? He go deaf all of a sudden?'
'Might be.'
'No, I don't like it.' Henderson decided. 'It's not like him. Something's gone wrong. I'm going to get to the rendezvous, meet him there.'
'Are you sure?'
'Certain. The last thing I want is him messing the whole thing up.'
And with that, Henderson strode down the corridor, shoes clacking on the wooden floor.
Slowly, Naomi moved away from the balcony, stretching out her hands in front of her. It probably wouldn't do much good in terms of fending off the creature before her, but it was nice to at least have the illusion of a chance.
'L-look…' she stammered, backing into the bookshelf and dislodging a copy or two of Mark of the Bishop. 'I don't want to hurt you, alright?'
The creature before her quivered, like someone had set a bowl of jelly to vibrate. However, the six circles inside it remained perfectly still, unfazed by the movement.
Naomi blinked a few times, before backing away once again.
'Can you understand me?' she asked, with a little more confidence than before. And again, no reply came. 'Look, just tell me what you want, and I can help you. But I have to know.'
The trembling stopped. The creature stood perfectly still.
'Are you alright?' Naomi asked it, stepping towards it a little. The second she put her first foot forward, however, the creature started to move. Its limbs clicked forward, far too stubby to reach her but certainly loud enough to spook her.
The creature started to move, heading towards the door, at the same pace and manner in which it had entered. Naomi watched as it approached the door, before it dissolved into a green mist.
As the mist started to phase through the door, there was a blinding green flash, like a firework had just been set off in the hallway. Naomi raised her hand to shield her eyes, but by the time they got there, the light had already faded away.
It burned into her corneas, like a lightbulb in front of her. Grimacing slightly, she slammed her eyes shut, cutting off any light and covering herself in darkness. The pain vanished, without leaving so much as an ache or sting behind. Naomi opened her eyes.
She looked around, a little confused. The apartment was empty, with only herself around. Two cups of tea, going a little cold now, were on the coffee table…so she must've just had a guest. Yes, that's right! Dr…Dr Smith! No, hang on, the Doctor, not Dr Smith.
Picking up the nearest cup, Naomi felt the liquid inside. Stone cold, like it had been left for hours unattended. Absent-mindedly, she took a sip of it, before gagging and sending the freezing drink back into the mug.
Had the Doctor gone home again? Maybe…she couldn't remember him leaving. The door was bolted shut from the inside, something she rarely ever did, and it was hardly likely that the Doctor had done it on his way out.
As she picked up the mugs and walked towards the kitchen, the memories came flooding back in a millisecond. She dropped the mugs onto the floor, letting them shatter into a mess of tea and china, slamming her hands against her head.
The Doctor. Umbrella. Balcony…
As worry quickly replaced the confusion, Naomi darted towards the balcony, stopping herself just before she herself went flying over the edge. Carefully, she craned her neck, looking down the side of the building.
Far, far beneath her, rows upon rows of people passed by on the streets below. If the Doctor was down there…
The shrill ringing of the phone sounded, waking her up from her imaginings. Quickly, she grabbed the phone, hitting the answer button and putting it to her ear:
'Hello?' she asked, her voice trembling a little more than she'd have liked.
'Is this Naomi Redfern?' came the voice from the other side.
'Yes?'
'Is a man called Smith there?'
The question hit Naomi like a ton of bricks.
'Oh. I'm…I'm sorry.' she said, barely concealing her pain. 'I suppose you don't know.'
'What's wrong?' Naomi heard a woman say, a good bit away from the other phone.
'It all happened so quickly…there was nothing I could do…this man, Smith. He's…he's dead.'
The line went dead. As Naomi heard the monotonous beep of the dial-tone, she hung up the phone and threw it onto the sofa. The Doctor was right. Someone was going to call, but it was just a few minutes too late. If only she'd had the sense to ask about the end, who it was, why they were calling…
Naomi scooped up the phone and punched in 1-4-7-1, before raising it to her ear.
'The number you are trying to reach has been disconnected.' the voice said. Naomi frowned, before hanging up.
In his study, Sir Fisher drained the last of the tea from the cup and into his mouth. With a clink, he placed the cup back onto the saucer, along with the spoon. He'd wait for a few minutes, then take it back into the kitchen. Whilst there were many jobs he was happy to do around the house, the dishes was not one of them. So, one of the things he'd come to love and nigh-on worship was the dishwasher.
Wearily, he checked his watch, and after a few mental sums, he reached his answer. Providing there wasn't any trouble, it should be on its way to the third and final target. Then, it'd all be over.
Until someone else finds out, nagged a small voice at the back of his mind. In his heart of hearts, he knew how it was going to end. Once let slip, stories were the most elusive of beasts, the single hardest to detain and eventually kill. As long as there was a single scrap of evidence, no matter how nebulous or innocent, it would never stop.
Once again, he banished the thought. As long as he was on the right side, he was on the winning side, and that was all that mattered.
He rose from his seat, leaving the study in silence.