第 17 页

The Doctor had looked dubious. 'Would you, Liz? Wouldn't you wonder what they were doing here? Query their motives? Distrust them? Why, if they had the technology to travel to Earth, would you assume they wanted to share it?'

'Because... because...'

'Because,' the Doctor had said, 'you are a trusting soul. But a vast majority of people aren't. And the least trusting of all are those in power, those who would be responsible for meeting the aliens. They'd be driven by paranoia to blow them up, I think. Earth has been visited countless times by harmless, inquisitive visitors, or by those unlucky enough to be stranded here. Many have left unnoticed, but those who have been discovered are usually persecuted, hounded and often killed. And some, who wanted nothing but peace, were forced to kill to defend themselves. No, Liz. Mankind is not ready to know the truth. Just look at the Silurians and how they were treated by the Brigadier.'

'But they were killers. Well, some at least.'

The Doctor had nodded. 'But so were a lot of humans.

Should the entire human race be wiped out because of a few Hitlers, Genghis Khans or Magnus Greels?'

Now, as she sat outside a small caf? sipping at her mug of hot tea, Liz found herself agreeing with the Doctor's sentiments. Mankind was not ready. But one day it would be, one day it had to be or they were all -

'Doctor Elizabeth Shaw?'

Liz stared up at the woman who had spoken. She was a good six feet tall, her blonde hair cropped in an unusual manly cut. An ample bosom was encased in a red sweater, and her extraordinarily long legs were barely concealed by a very short black miniskirt. Slung over her shoulder was a large black holdall.

'Yes, I'm Liz. You must be Jana?'

The newcomer smiled and sat beside her. 'Yeah, hi. Good choice of location. Easy to find for a newcomer to London like me. Amsterdam is full of street caf閟 like this. I almost feel at home.' Jana placed her bag on the ground. 'Can I get you anything?'

Liz declined, and watched as Jana walked - no, strode - into the cafe to get something to drink.

While she waited, she resumed her observation of the lives passing her by. There was an old woman carrying too much heavy shopping. A young couple, who looked as if they'd been arguing about something. They were together physically but obviously not mentally; both looked at different shops for prolonged periods, determined not to catch the other's eye. A young woman caught Liz's attention, her clothes and make-up a little too over-the-top to be fashionable. Still, this was Soho, and people had to earn a living. Just across the way was the Palace Theatre, and beyond that a congregation of German or Swiss tourists were disembarking from a coach parked illegally outside the famous 84 Charing Cross Road bookshop.

'Books. Everywhere you go round here, there are books. But do people read them? No, the young today listen to rock 'n' roll. This peace, love and free sex stuff. Drugs, that'll destroy them all. In ten years, they'll all be dead and this will be a wasteland. And then where will we be, eh?'

Liz, startled, stared at the shabby tramp who faced her, his hands in mittens despite the warm summer day. He shook a tin cup at her. By the sound of it, so far he'd scrounged a couple of old shillings and a ring-pull from a coke can. In his other hand was a tatty plastic shopping bag.

'Still,' he continued as if she'd shown some interest, 'at least the birds will survive. One day, we may see a fox in Piccadilly again. Or hear a nightingale in Berkeley Square. Do you know the old song?'

Terrified that she was about to be subjected to a rendering of it, Liz dropped a fifty pence piece into his cup.

He put the bag down beside her table and touched a matted lump of his grey hair. 'Bless you, miss. May God smile on you today, and guide you on your journey.'

'Oh yes, and which journey is that?' asked a strong, slightly accented female voice beside Liz. The scientist looked up, pleased to see Jana return.

The old tramp held his cup out optimistically, but he obviously saw something in Jana's returned stare that made him wilt. His arm dropped and for a second Liz thought he would spill his money.

'Careful,' she said.

The old man looked back at her. 'God bless you again.' His voice was suddenly very quiet and hoarse. 'I'd best be going.' He turned away and disappeared with surprising speed along Old Compton Street.

'Well, I suppose this is hello.' Jana was drinking something that looked and smelled like rich hot chocolate, with a dollop of cream on top.

'That looks nice.'

Jana nodded. 'My absolute favourite. Chocolate is a true gift from the gods. Energizing, exotic, erotic and very tasty. Do you want a sip?'

Liz shook her head. 'So why are we here? Literally rather than philosophically, if you don't mind.'

Jana laughed, loud and strong, yet feminine and hearty. Liz realized that she had instantly taken a liking to this Amazonian journalist. 'It's a good question. I suppose we're here to discuss our mysterious nameless friend and his strange notes. You're with UNIT, aren't you.' It was a statement, not a question. 'So I thought it must be something to do with them, or at least with the United Nations. Maybe someone is defecting to Russia.'

'We're not MI5, you know. It's sometimes a little deeper than that.'

Jana nodded. 'Yeah, all right. So we're talking about little green men with three heads.'

Liz chuckled quietly.

Jana frowned. 'What did I say?'

'The same as me when I first started working for UNIT. I said I wasn't interested in spies, invisible inks or anything like that. Nor little green men with -'

'Three heads,' finished Jana. 'Okay, I'll tell you what I know about UNIT. Bugger all. Zero. Zilch. Nought. I once had lunch with a UNIT officer called Jan-Dick Heijs but all he said was that it was top secret, and fobbed me off with the usual cover story.'

'Nice man,' Liz murmured. 'I met him at a reception at... Westminster. He said that one day he thought UNIT personnel would all be integrated and working all over the world.' Liz paused to sip her tea. 'I said I hoped he would come and work in Britain.'

Jana nodded intently. 'Did he?'

'He was killed in an... accident a few weeks ago.'

'Oh. God. How awful. I didn't know...'

Liz shrugged. 'How could you? It was a UNIT thing. Hush-hush.' Something at the back of her mind was jabbing at her; she was not allowed to speak about UNIT affairs so openly. Least of all with a journalist, no matter how pleasant her company might be. But she pushed it down. She was fed up with UNIT red-tape. With being denied the freedom to talk.

'I need to talk.'

Jana looked over. 'Did you say something?'

'No. Just day-dreaming.' Liz finished her tea. 'Okay. To business. I can't say I like getting strange mail or phone calls, but I admit I'm intrigued. I thought our anonymous source was a hoaxer until you called.'

'Hoaxer?'

'Sorry. Prankster? A man making stupid calls for the hell of it. Putting me on.'

Jana smiled. 'Ah, right. Hoaxer. I'll remember that. My English isn't bad, but there's always room to learn.'

Liz laughed. 'Actually, I think your English is excellent. I forgot it wasn't your first language.' She looked along Old Compton Street. 'Do you fancy a bite to eat? I didn't have breakfast this morning and I know a place that does a good brunch. That's a -'

'A cross between breakfast and lunch. Believe me, Liz, where food's concerned, I know the language.' Jana also got up and looked off towards Charing Cross Road. A police siren could be heard wailing above the general hubbub of the crowd. 'I can't think here. I need to be inside something like a restaurant and - what's that?'

Liz looked down at her feet. The old tramp's bag was lying there. 'The old fool must have left it here. It's probably got all he owns in it. We must find him and give it back.' She looked around, as if expecting to see him pushing his way through the crowds to retrieve it. 'Oh, the poor man.'

Jana reached over and took it. 'Maybe we can see if there's anything in here that will help us find him.' She put her hand in and pulled out a long manila envelope.

DR SHAW. MS KRISTAN.

It took a few moments for it to sink in and then Liz opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out. Jana just shrugged. 'He's cleverer than we thought.'

Liz looked at the bag. 'And being a tramp almost guaranteed that we wouldn't look too hard at him. He knows human nature.'

'Yeah, that's as may be, but let's see what he left us. I doubt he was just saying hello for the hell of it.' Jana dug into the envelope and yanked out a small letter.

Hello to both of you.

If you've got this, then everything is going well. The Glasshouse has been framed for the assassination attempt on Sir John Sudbury. They're moving in for the kill now. The Minister has begun an investigation into the Glasshouse and Sir Marmaduke. Beware, both of you. Few people are what they seem. Except me, of course. I'm exactly what I seem: a faceless mystery that no one notices.

Enclosed is a map. It shows an island in the Channel Isles. That is where the trail is leading. Something is there, connected with what is going on in Smallmarshes. I don't know what exactly - possibly because of my connection with Grant Traynor, my supply of information has been 'diverted' to other people and I'm left in the dark. Something dangerous is going on up North, and this island is linked to it.

One final thing. Beware of Sir Marmaduke Harrington-Smythe. He's a tricky bugger and will not let anyone get in his way. Like all vicious animals, he's at his most dangerous when he's cornered.

I believe someone is aware that I'm feeding you two, and I may have been betrayed. Perhaps that's why my information has dried up. Either way, you're on your own now. I've given you all I can.

Good luck, my angels.

A friend

---

'He's given us nothing!' shouted Jana, causing a few heads to turn. She ignored them, but spoke more quietly. 'A map of an island and vague references to the "North". Of England? Europe? The Arctic circle?'

'And why worry about the Glasshouse?' chipped in Liz. 'They're hardly dodgy.' Jana scratched her chin, aware that her voice was still raised to make her words audible above the sound of the police siren which had stopped nearby, and was now. joined by the ululation of an approaching ambulance. 'Except they've been implicated in the attack on your jolly politician. Perhaps we should go there first. Can your UNIT connections get us in there?'

Liz nodded. 'I'll arrange some transport.'

Jana smiled. 'Won't you get into trouble for taking a journalist there?'

'Right now,' Liz said, 'I'm more concerned with finding out the truth behind all this.' She pointed at the letter. 'I'm afraid brunch will have to wait. We'll get something on the motorway.'

'Where do we go from here?'

'I need to make some calls from my flat, to arrange things. So Piccadilly Circus tube station.'

They set off down Old Compton Street, heading to the junction with Wardour Street. A thought struck Liz. 'Do you have a car?' she asked.

Jana failed to respond. Liz turned to look at her, and saw her companion staring down the road, towards the junction of Wardour Street and Brewer Street. A police car and ambulance were parked there, with uniformed police pushing the crowds back. Intrigued, both women moved forward to get a better view, and Liz inexplicably felt a shudder run down her spine. 'This is going to be bad,' she muttered. If Jana heard, she failed to respond. Instead she shot Liz a glance and indicated with her head towards the crowd.

Liz stared through the mass of onlookers and caught a glimpse of what seemed to be a body lying in the road. She immediately thought someone had been knocked down.

Something inside egged her on. 'Let me through please,' she heard herself say. 'I'm a doctor.' Jana was following close enough behind her to get through the gaps in the crowd, and if anyone closed in, her muscular frame soon eased them out of her way.

The body was dead, there was no question, but it was clearly not the victim of a car accident. Three cavities disfigured the upper chest and left shoulder, and Liz recognized them as bullet-wounds. A fourth bullet had gone through the temple and another into the throat, making the face unidentifiable. The body was a mess, soaked with blood. This hadn't been an accident, or even a killing. It had been an execution.

'Poor old guy,' muttered a woman laden with bags of shopping. 'What a way to end his life.'

'Probably the best thing for him,' replied someone else; a man. 'I mean, who'd want a tramp's life anyway?'

Liz stared at the crowd in surprise and disappointment. A man - a human being - had been shot. Deliberately. A life gone in seconds. And they reckoned it was for the best?

She was about to give someone a piece of her mind when Jana grabbed her arm and pointed. Under the front of a nearby parked van, where it had rolled away, was a bloodstained tin cup. A few small coins were scattered nearby.

Liz looked again at the dead body, and then at Jana who had clearly reached the same conclusion.

'Well.' Jana tapped the envelope against her hand. 'I guess that was our last message. We really are on our own now.'

---

The Reptiles' base was a fantastic piece of architecture. Deep below the island, it had been built to circulate air from the surface, equalizing pressure naturally. Its passage-ways and ducting were designed to optimize the heat and humidity without the interior becoming stuffy. Condensation formed on the walls and drained into grated gutters, providing a constant supply of pure water in which the inhabitants could bathe and replenish their natural oils. It was also salt-free, and therefore drinkable.