CHAPTER 9
For Sam, the drive to Hirst's warehouse was a blur after being dragged out of his bedroom, through a smoky corridor, and thrown into a steel, windowless van.
Six guards in visored masks glared menacingly at Sam throughout the drive, their fingers poised on their triggers.
Regis, meanwhile, rode in the front cabin.
Sam was shoehorned out of the vehicle and a warehouse, then escorted to a room resembling an expensive windowless studio apartment decked out with Japanese design sensibilities.
Catering to Sam's tastes in decor, the room was furnished in Japanese minimalism, complete with a bedside table, a hot water urn, an ensuite, and even a television.
Despite a very comfortable-looking bed in the room, Sam knew he wouldn't be sleeping while adrenaline rushed through his blood and his palms sheened in sweat.
He traced his fingers along the walls of illuminated white glass housed in black marble frames, matching the black marble floor.
A stone statue stood at the door, near a section where foldaway paper-thin Noren dressing dividers were positioned.
Albeit the luxurious surroundings, the locked door made it clear that he was a prisoner.
Sam sat red-eyed on the bed, leaning forward.
His heart rate elevated at the sound of a lock being released from the other side of the door.
A middle-aged blonde woman entered the room.
She was dressed in a fitted black leather jacket, left half-zipped, and paired with black leather pants tucked into black leather thigh boots.
A leather cape draped from the back of her jacket, extending to her ankles.
Her footsteps echoed in the room as she approached the bed where Sam sat.
Several names went through Sam's head as he watched her, but Angela Hirst was not one of them.
Instead, a name materialised in Sam's mind for every item of her clothing he scrutinized— Balenciaga, Armani, Versace, Alexander McQueen, or, somewhat condescendingly, Zara.
Whichever the brand, his imagination dressed him in each item after a La Prairie facial, an application of Chanel Brume D'or, and finished with a cosmopolitan cocktail in hand.
Sam's vocal tone was a faded haze, "You would have turned heads with all that leather at the Christmas party."
She cackled, "Hello, gorgeous. It's been a while since Martha introduced us that night. You're still as fabulous and pretty as ever, beautiful boy."
"Please spare me your 'Devil Wears Prada' routine. You carry Miranda so fierce, but I want out."
She laughed mockingly, "I'm afraid that is not on offer, Ms. Sachs. Not just yet. Though I have a fine set of heels that crown you queen at a club."
Sam was unmoved by her attempt to bridge a relationship with him over a mutual subject of passion.
Seeing that she was getting nowhere, Hirst continued, "Two people interest me. Your housemate, Martha Jones, and her newfound boyfriend."
He narrowed his eyes, "That skinny guy with funky hair?"
"Go on."
Sam shakily replied, "I may know who you mean."
"Good," she answered softly. "I won't hurt you, Sam. Nothing of this is about you. Martha and her male companion failed to see beyond their recklessness. I can help them, but not without you. Help me save Martha."
"You could re-hire her."
"Not when she aided and abetted a patient kidnapping. It's heartbreaking to see so much potential squandered by such a selfish act," Hirst sat down alongside Sam and linked her left leg over her right, stretching her arms behind her while staring ahead. "Sam, her accomplice isn't just any man, you know. He's corrupted her, and I'm scared for her."
"Is he a colleague?"
"What makes you think that?"
"Well, he's a Doctor. That's what he calls himself. Literally, the Doctor."
Hirst felt her heart harden to concrete. "Doctor. He did survive," she whispered. A knowing grin crossed her lips, "I think you're far more use than I anticipated, Ms. Sachs."
MEANWHILE
The Doctor and Martha pressed their backs against a brick wall in a lane after endlessly running through the night with their hands clenched together.
Catching her breath, Martha looked to the evening sky before breathily asking, "Ok, where to next?"
Swallowing, the Doctor answered, "I doubt the TARDIS will be ready."
She looked at him, deflated. "You really know how to treat a girl." Martha stared ahead, thinking of viable alternatives. "Trouble is, they'd know to look up Mum or Tish, I don't want to crash in there." As she attempted to catch her breath, Martha looked to where she heard a whirring of his sonic screwdriver. Rubbing her chilly arms in her sleeveless garment, she asked, "What are you doing?"
Focusing his attention on a thick padlock, he spoke as it released in his grip, "Just trying for some late-night access."
She pressed off from the wall and stood behind him to read thick, white characters on a double gate: 'I.M. FOREMAN.'
Confused, she asked, "What is this place?"
The Doctor pulled the gate aside and held it open for her, "Just a little getaway of mine. Come on."
Martha reluctantly entered the scrapyard, nervous about who or what could be waiting for them in the shadows or concealed behind crates.
After the Doctor closed and locked the gate behind them, he walked toward an old-fashioned pale blue milk float with its soft-top roof still attached.
Her eyes trailed his footsteps, "No, mate."
The Doctor climbed onto the back of the float, sparingly packed with several empty crates. Looking back to Martha, he waved her over and patted the van's floor section, "Nobody will ever think to find us here."
Gritting her teeth, Martha looked to the gate before she took hesitant steps toward the float.
Climbing onto the back of the vehicle, she sat her back against one of the low wall panels and stretched her legs out.
Sitting alongside her, the Doctor unbuttoned his blazer, removed it, and draped it around her shoulders.
A warm smile crossed Martha's lips as she watched him.
She sat forward and graciously accepted the jacket formerly belonging to her father.
Martha closed it as much as she could around her upper body, looking at him, "Hey, you know I believe in you, right?"
The Doctor looked back at her, "Ditto."
Her eyes locked onto his, "I'm sorry I said what I did back to you there."
The Doctor shook his head.
She avoided his gaze, "When I said I'd kill you."
"I already knew you didn't mean it like that. You don't even know the best part, do you?"
Martha shrugged.
"Sam believes in you."
Martha felt her cheeks blush as her eyes looked to his lips, swallowing. "Thanks."
Leaning into him, Martha rested her head against the Doctor's bicep.
The Doctor smirked, "I take it that I'm the first patient you've ever slept with?"
She chuckled, "Don't get ahead of yourself, mate." Martha closed her eyes to sleep while the Doctor kept watch, linking her arm around her shoulder.
THE NEXT DAY
Madison carried her takeaway morning coffee as she exited the elevator into a circular foyer and headed toward a set of stairs descending into UNIT's command centre.
The area was populated by sleek, curved black workstations, each equipped with two monitors and a computer.
A large projector screen dominated the command centre's front wall, displaying a detailed map of England lined with unique colour coding to illustrate its entire landscape.
Meanwhile, the side window panels of the command centre boasted horizon-spanning views of London.
Madison approached her workstation dressed in an unbuttoned burnt orange one-button suit over a white long-sleeve collared shirt.
She checked the gentle curl of her untied shoulder-length hair while staring at her jet-black monitor.
Madison crossed her ankles beneath the desk as she sat, wearing a pair of tan leather pointed-toe flat shoes with open backs and chain detailing over her foot.
Madison's desk phone rang, "Madison," she answered.
"Madison, just making sure everything is working. I trust you have your logins?" It was Kate.
Madison nodded as she tilted her head against the phone handset, balancing it on her shoulder while typing her password with both hands, "All up and running since yesterday."
"Excellent," Kate responded. "What are your movements for today?"
"I've tracked Hirst's vehicle." Madison paused a moment, withholding the near-hostile Hirst encounter. "An uneventful task."
"Have you traced her movements?"
"From what I can tell, she is operating out of some warehouse on the docks. It's in a fairly remote block, away from imports and exports."
"Perhaps that's where the research is being carried out."
Madison nodded, "My thoughts exactly. It's worth investigating."
"No, not yet, Madison. It's too dangerous. For now, I would prefer you investigate Hirst's interests within a more immediate context."
"I've already given that thought. Braxiatel Incorporated. It's a company she owns and, obviously, a major financier of her research for Braxiatel therapy at Lister Hospital."
She held the handset in her left hand while directing the computer mouse with her right hand, opening her email inbox.
"Well done, Miss Lu."
"Best of all, Doyle created a cover for me. I'll be approaching them as a Ph.D. student majoring in neurology. I am meeting with them to discuss their new endeavour."
"Doyle assisted?"
Madison bounced her heels against the floor as she grinned, "He volunteered. Apparently, I owe him dinner."
"His favourite cuisine is Italian."
"Then I guess I'll need to arrange a pizza delivery to his apartment while I binge Sex & The City," she smirked. "He's not my type. I want UNIT. That's my focus."
Kate laughed, "Don't grow up too quickly, Madison. I've forgotten my late twenties were ever that good."
"I was hoping for some notes, actually."
Kate hesitated before answering, "Some regrets, but nothing that didn't make me stronger."
"I'm not looking to satisfy a man until I'm satisfied."
"Then you have perspective. Excellent work, Madison. Keep me updated on your investigation."
Madison smiled, "Will do."
MEANWHILE
Martha's hips subtly swayed as she rubbed her stiffened neck while striding along the diner bathroom onto the black and white tiled floor toward a booth seat.
She slid into the white leather booth seat opposite the Doctor, sighing as she had only managed to sleep around three hours the evening beforehand.
Snatching a fork and contemplating a slice of cherry pie on the table.
He scoffed down a mouthful with a dessert spoon, like a child experiencing sugar for the first time, offering a slightly more adult assessment, "There's a certain American charm lacking here."
Martha poked her fork into the pie, "You mean there's not enough sugar?" She pressed the heel of her boot against the edge of the banquette opposite where she sat.
"If I want wine, I'll just order a wine." "You are having a whine. It's just not spelled the way you think," she jabbed.
"I need brain food to formulate my next step."
"Sugar as brain food. Says a lot," Martha answered, dismissively tossing her fork on the table. She rested her arms on the table, "So, what's your plan for Sam?"
He sat back in his booth seat, thinking, "Before anything, I need more on Angela Hirst."
"What does she want from you?"
Tapped his fork against the table's edge, "My TARDIS for one."
"Is it a weapon?"
"No!" He snappily replied before amending, "Weeell, I suppose by extension of its application it could be, yes."
"Does she know where it is?"
The Doctor shook his head, "Even if she did, it's still connected to the regenerative process. Not even I can get in."
Martha shook her head, thrown by his archaic terminology. "Hold on, back up. You're talking about that deadlocked blue box, right? What you mean is that it's securely locked from anyone, even yourself?"
"Effectively." He took another mouthful of pie, asking, "Anything weird happening at the
hospital in the past few days?"
Martha sat back, "There was one thing. A woman named Tina James." She drummed her fingers on the table, "I got performance managed for that one."
"Who's Tina James?"
"Audrey, her daughter, sought Braxiatel treatment for her multiple sclerosis. She went missing. Hirst doubled down on the hospital's patient confidentiality policy, and nobody dared discuss it. Obviously, it wouldn't be good for the hospital's reputation."
"Did they ever find her?"
Martha plucked a napkin from the holder. In an absent-minded state, she began folding it on the table as she answered. "Kind of. Shortly after you checked in, Tina visited the hospital in hysterics after seeing her deceased daughter in her front garden one night. Apparently, Tina's daughter had scared some pizza delivery guy."
The Doctor pressed his head back against the booth seat padding. "It could be connected." He sighed, "Hertfordshire Hospital is our next stop."
"WHAT!" She shrieked, sitting forward.
"Shhhh," he leaned in after noticing that other patrons in the diner started looking in their direction. "I just need Tina's address."
Martha laughed incredulously, "That's all?"
"I doubt they'd recognise me."
Martha pinched the bridge of her nose as she closed her eyes, "You must be kidding."
"Then what else?!"
"I can't, I just-" she sighed.
The Doctor interjected, "Wait! Your promiscuous nurse friend."
Martha shrugged in confusion.
"Tamara!"
"Oh, come off it!" She raised her voice again. Leaning closer to him, she hissed, "You really want me to compromise a friend's career?"
"It's just an address."
Martha waved her hands with nonchalant mockery, "It's just a breach of patient privacy."
"It's our path to finding Sam. Tina's daughter was subject to Hirst's experiments. There must be a thread that unveils what's behind this. Otherwise, we have nothing."
Martha stomped her heel on the Doctor's banquette in frustration as she slumped into her seat, narrowly avoiding stubbing his knee. "Well, I've already been sacked. May as well up the ante!"
"Martha, I gave you my word about Sam. I'm not enjoying this. I want to fix it. Everything that is going on right now is my fault. I won't stop until I make this right."
Internally, Martha seethed angrily, but her goal focus aided her in restraining a short temper. "Let me make a phone call."
MEANWHILE
Madison held her black designer handbag alongside her, adjusting her tan-coloured belt as she stood on a marble floor of level thirteen in the corporate tower where Braxiatel Incorporated was based.
An approaching voice interrupted her view of London, accompanied by a handsome face offering his hand.
"Miss Madison Lu?" A slim male in his early thirties with neatly parted jet-black hair and round-frame glasses greeted her. "I am Jiles Hyde. Your PhD supervisor, Lachlan Doyle, told me all about you."
Madison took in his fitted two-button charcoal suit, admiring how it defined his silhouette over his light blue collared shirt and navy blue tie. She shook his hand, "All pleasant things?"
"Entirely so. But enough about what I'm seeing," he smiled.
Madison gently withdrew her hand from Jiles' and squared her shoulders. "The feeling is mutual," she answered with a quirked eyebrow.
"Can I get you a drink?"
"I'd love that."
MEANWHILE
Martha leaned against a tree, watching the Doctor toss a pebble across the pond.
The Doctor dug his hands into his pockets, watching the park with narrowed eyes for sightings of Regis or his guards.
Although there were no signs of either, the Doctor insisted on traveling on foot to avoid transport, especially where there was potential for traffic delays.
Martha continued speaking into her phone, "Tamara, I really appreciate this. You have to let me pay you back." She laughed, "Yes, drinks on me. Emphasis on the plural." Martha listened as she looked at the Doctor, "Sure, I can ask," she giggled. "Great, bye!"
Once Martha ended the call, a text immediately arrived from Tamara.
Martha said to herself, "Gosh, she's good."
The Doctor stood by the pond as Martha approached, "Any luck?"
"This better pays off," Martha warned as she tucked the phone into her fitted chino pockets. "She just sent Tina's address. Tamara wants to know if you'll join us for drinks."
"Why?"
"No idea. Here's a hot take, though: could it be that she wishes to enjoy a drink with you?"
"I don't drink."
"Then order a red cordial and pour it into a wine glass. You'll pass as a late teen. Let's go."
MEANWHILE
Madison walked alongside Jiles through the corridor as he spoke, "It's really only early days for Braxiatel. Despite our ongoing presence in the profession, it is only recently that our work has shown promise."
She nodded, "There's been a number of controversies attached to the study. Is it true that approval is still pending?"
Jiles nodded, "It's still experimental, yes. Five years ago it was seen as a niche fantasy. Now? It's gained traction."
"Are people still opting into the treatment?"
"That, frankly, has slowed. While the requirements for candidates are fairly broad, bad press has contributed to dwindling numbers, if previous years are any comparison."
"Could have any connection with the claims that Braxiatel surgery didn't reduce seizures in epilepsy as first reported?" Madison slid her iPad from her handbag, and guided her index finger across its screen, continuing. "This research paper I have here was in response to the company's announcement that, on average, patient seizures were reduced by up to around thirty percent. A peer-reviewed study found that these numbers were unsupported."
Jiles faced Madison, coughing with discomfort as he read the tablet's content.
Madison tucked her iPad away, continuing, "Then there's the claim of missing patients."
Jiles' shoulders rounded from their more confident posture from earlier, "Missing?"
"It could be tabloid conjecture," Madison cleared her throat before meticulously moving, considering how to phrase her next point. "Volunteers were apparently uncontactable. One was even said to have fled the program as a runaway."
Jiles narrowed his eyes, "I can't vouch for that, no." He shrugged, choosing his words carefully, "I'd be happy to provide volunteer data and case study findings."
"I'd like that," Madison nodded.
Jiles raised his right index finger, "I should also say Braxiatel has launched a volunteer program for those suffering less severe complications to be treated. It's not quite the same treatment, but it parallels closely with the research being done for the mainline treatments."
"The data on that would be most welcome too," Madison answered.
Jiles continued, "Details on that, plus several other announcements to be made at this evening's event. Professor Hirst will be there, along with many esteemed guests and financiers. The last six months may have provided less than promising numbers, but we have new stakeholders on board who are showing promise."
"Anything you can give me would help."
Jiles paused, "I am allowed a plus one."
Madison held his stare, laughing, "Good for her."
"You mean yourself?"
She laughed nervously, "I'm just a research student."
"It could be good for your paper, that's before even mentioning the networking experience. I can tell you're driven, smart, focused," he swallowed, "Gorgeous."
Madison chuckled as her cheeks blushed warmly, "OK."
"That's yes?"
She shrugged, "I suppose," she laughed again.
"Great, I'll send you an invite. It's a black-tie event, so fancy dress."
Madison stroked her hair back with her right hand as she smiled at him.