第 23 页

This was Yates's first civvies-job since joining UNIT and he was rather enjoying himself. Being in the army was all very well, but wearing a khaki collar and tie or rough fatigues every day could get a bit tedious. The chance to wear his own clothes while at work was rare enough to be savoured.

He was dressed in a brown roll-neck, under a brown check sports coat. His tan flannel trousers flapped in the breeze as he started back towards the car, stuffmg his hand in his pocket.

Cunningly deepened and reshaped, the pocket was actually a holster containing a small Browning automatic, loaded and ready. Mike Yates was not taking chances.

As he approached, Maisie Hawke stuck her head out of the window, smiling. 'Hey, Michael. I don't think any of the locals are going to attack us. No need for the pistol, eh?'

He got into the passenger seat. 'Can't be too careful, Maisie. You never know. The Brig always says to be prepared.'

'You sound like a boy scout.' She was still smiling. 'When you've been with UNIT a while longer, you'll relax a bit more.'

Mike shrugged. 'Yeah, but how long is that? The life-expectancy of a UNIT soldier isn't exactly known to be high.'

'We all know the risks when we sign on the dotted line. No one forces us here, you know.'

Mike opened the glove compartment, taking out a bar of Dairy Milk. He broke off a piece, offering it to Hawke. She took it and began munching.

He did the same. 'I know, but it sounds quite glamorous when you're in the regular army, pounding some parade square. Or going on endless manoeuvres in Germany.'

Hawke shrugged. 'So. Why did you join up?'

Mike stared out of the windscreen. 'A long story involving family pressure, peer group pressure, university pressure and personal inability to say no to anyone who thought they could run my life better than I could.'

'Wow. Anything you do actually like in your life?'

Mike looked at her in concern. 'No, don't get me wrong. I actually like it. I mean, UNIT is great because it has an element of risk. Of the unknown. I've done things here that I could never have dreamed of. I've travelled through time rips, I've arranged for top secret objects to be locked away. I've seen more weirdness here in two months than I could have hoped for in ten years in the regular army. I'm not leaving this place unless it's on a blanket-covered stretcher.'

'How grim.' Hawke held her hand out for more chocolate. 'Best I've done is book restaurant tables for the Brigadier and the Doctor, order sandwiches for Sir John Sudbury and have a Nestene Energy Unit delivered to the National Space Museum.'

'Huh. Didn't know such a thing existed.'

'Nor me.' Hawke demanded more chocolate. 'You're a weird one yourself, Michael.'

'Why?'

'Most of us are doing a job. OK, I'm a glorified telephonist and radio ham, but I probably know more about UNIT and what it does than any foot soldier here. But it doesn't greatly interest me. You, well, you're sort of odd. You like all this crap. Aliens, killer robots, space missions bringing back alien plagues and all that. It actually interests you, doesn't it?'

Mike Yates nodded. 'I think so, yes.'

'Do you know why we're here?'

'Silurians. That's what Benton said when he rang. I had a quick flick through the files and gather that they're -'

'Reptile people, who had a civilization upon this planet millions of years before mankind could even talk clearly. Recently located in some caves in Derbyshire.

Research, however, has caused some speculation that a similar colony was found in the Antarctic during the twenties, although the UNIT station subsequently set up there has yet to provide any concrete evidence. Unlike most Reptiles, they appear to be able to adapt both to extremely hot and extremely cold temperatures. They are dangerous when roused and are a Code 1101 menace.'

Mike was impressed. 'How did you learn all that?'

'I typed the file you read.' She paused, staring forwards, 'I also lost my fianc?to them, at Wenley Moor.' She turned to face him. 'Possibly out of consideration for my feelings, or maybe because Sir John won't extend his budget, the Brigadier has not had a captain since Sam was killed.'

'I... I'm sorry, Maisie. I didn't know.'

'No reason why you should. Even his family don't know. They think he died in a military car accident in Switzerland. Do you know how many lies I have to type, Mike? How often I have to write and tell someone that their son or daughter has been killed while on attachment to UNIT? I can't say they died when an Auton shot them in Essex, or a supposedly friendly alien shoved more radiation through their body with one touch than they'd get if they sat in a reactor at Windscale for six months. No, they die in car accidents, or swimming accidents. Or missing after manoeuvres in the Gobi desert have gone awry.' She looked at her hands and Mike could see they were gripping the steering wheel too tightly; her knuckles were white. 'I had to write to George Hawkins, a man I spent Christmas with last year, and tell him Sam died in an accident when he actually died protecting us all from a bunch of reptilian killers.'

'I thought the Brigadier wrote to people,' Mike said suddenly, and immediately wished he hadn't.

But Maisie Hawke laughed and let go of the steering wheel. 'Oh, Michael, you're so sweet.'

'Oh. Thanks. I think.'

'Yeah, he signs them. But I research who they go to and actually type them up.' She shook her head, letting her hair whip around her face for a second. 'Right, that's enough about that. What next?'

Mike just stared at her. 'That's the first time you've talked about Sam's death, isn't it?'

'Not allowed to talk about it, am I? Official Secrets Act and all that.' She touched his hand. 'Thanks for listening.'

'Thanks for talking. If you want to do it again, I'm always around.' Mike gave her the last piece of chocolate.

She ate it and then pointed out of the window. 'Here comes Tom.'

Mike sighed. Why did he have to bring Corporal Osgood? The chap meant well but he was, frankly, a bit of an egg-head. Ah well.

Osgood opened the door and slid into the back.

'Sergeant. Corporal Hawke.'

'Well, Tom? Anything from our helpful local constabulary?'

Osgood consulted the spiral-bound notebook he always carried. 'I left Corporal Bell talking to a Sergeant Robert Lines. It appears he knew the Doctor.'

Hawke sighed. 'We knew that. That's why you went to find him.'

'Oh. Yes, right. Well, he knows nothing more it seems, but he wants to help. The Doctor obviously took him into some confidence.'

The radio crackled and Benton's voice came out of the dashboard receiver. 'Trap One to Greyhound Two. Over?'

'Greyhound Two to Trap One, receiving.'

'Hello, sir. News for you from Sir John Sudbury. The Glasshouse has been closed down pending an inquiry. Sir John wants us to oversee the removal of sensitive materials. Over.'

'Oh great,' Mike muttered. 'Roger, Trap One. Will inform Greyhound One of the situation. Do nothing until contacted. Over and out.' He looked at the other two. 'We'd better find the Brigadier.'

The Glasshouse receptionist looked up as the doors opened, briefly letting the bright sunlight in. She blinked slightly and her eyes readjusted.

A man in a cream jacket and black roll-neck sweater stood in the doorway. He had a neatly centre-parted cluster of blond hair above a richly tanned face. He was wearing dark glasses. She felt herself relax until she saw the hefty pistol in his hand, a large stubby silencer on the end. She reached for the alarm button but didn't make it - the man smacked her in the chest.

No he didn't, he was standing by the door... Then wha-

---

The blond man walked past the reception desk, glancing at the dead nurse as scarlet red spread across her breasts, stark against the bleached white of her uniform.

A male nurse came out of a room, carrying a sheaf of papers. Seconds later, he was on the floor, the papers soaking up the blood from a massive hole through his neck. His arm twitched violently, but he was already dead.

Moments later, the blond man entered Doctor Peter Morley's laboratory. It was empty apart from a man in a white coat and a young woman, both sitting in a corner. The woman was drawing something on the wall with a pen while the man watched. Neither was aware that he had entered.

He fired twice, almost severing the man's head from his body. The woman swung round and looked up, uncomprehending.

'Hey, who the hell -'

Another man in a scientist's jacket had entered from an office at the rear. The blond man turned almost imperceptibly, firing casually as he did so, not bothering to take careful aim. The shot took the newcomer through the groin, slamming him back against the far wall. White with shock, the injured man tried to get up until a second shot hit him between the eyes.

Before he had hit the floor, the blond man strode across to the woman, grabbed her roughly and threw her over his shoulder.

Ten minutes later they were on their way to Northumberland.

Brigadier Lethbridge-Stewart stared at the timetable pasted up at Smallmarshes station. One train every hour passed that way, heading either for Dover or Hastings. The railway was a one-track job, like the famous Marlow Donkey near his home.

Home, Fiona and Kate, and all those problems, seemed frighteningly far away at that moment. It constantly amazed the Brigadier how easily he could set aside his worries about his domestic life. It was a kind of schizophrenia, he decided, a deliberate leading of a double-life to try and keep Queen, Country and Fiona happy. He didn't need to remind himself that he had failed. Fiona was going to divorce him. Even her Catholic grandparents wouldn't be able to stop that one. Maybe she was right. Maybe he should just give in and let her go, let her get on with her life. Find a real city businessman, with a real city business who could give her real excuses for working late and have real affairs with real secretaries.

No. He would not get bitter. Separation was, frankly, inevitable. It had been ever since that business in the Underground a few years back, when everyone else was talking about being evacuated from London. Fiona had wanted to know why he had 'stayed at the office apartments in London' instead of leaving for the safety of the countryside with her. Kate had not even been a gleam in their eye then, but nevertheless, Fiona had been pregnant within eighteen months. It had been a reminder that his place was at home. But Lethbridge-Stewarts had been in the military since the battle of Waterloo when Major General Fergus Lethbridge-Stewart had been right-hand man to the Duke of Wellington. And family tradition was something the Brigadier had never kicked against. Like all Sandhurst lads, he'd learnt another trade in case he ended up in Civvie Street, but there had been little doubt that the army was to be his life.

And so here he was, standing on an empty railway platform on the Kent/Sussex coast, wondering what had happened to two of his staff. The Doctor was not known for his adherence to rules and regulations, but for him to have vanished so totally seemed more than a little suspicious. And if those reptile monsters were involved, well, there could be an element of revenge thrown in. After all, the Doctor had been around in Derbyshire. Mind you, it had been the Brigadier and not the Doctor who tried to blow them all up, all on orders from C19 of course, but he would hardly blame them for bearing a grudge.

Then there was Miss Shaw: acerbic, spiky and just a little frightening. Nevertheless, the Brigadier valued her, not just for her mind but for her ability to keep the Doctor in check. She had just vanished without trace. Maisie Hawke had not been able to track her down at all, not even through Jeff Johnson.

'Can I help you, sir?'

The Brigadier found himself facing a ticket collector.

'Not another train for a while, sir. Sorry. I'm just about to lock up while I nip out and get a bite of lunch. Do you want to stay, or come back later? It's due in about twenty minutes, if you're wanting Hastings. Over an hour before Dungeness and Dover.'

'Oh. No, I'll go.'

'Right you are, sir. See you later.'

The Brigadier followed the ticket collector off the platform and back onto the short path leading up to the coastal road.

'Mr Lethbridge-Stewart?'

He looked up. There was Yates in his car with the two corporals. He walked over to them and Yates relayed Benton's message.

The Brigadier snatched at the radio transmitter and paged Benton back at UNIT HQ.

'Afternoon, sir. You got my message? Over.'

'Certainly did, Benton. What the hell is Sudbury up to? We need the Glasshouse. Over.'

'No idea, sir,' came the reply. 'But I think he wanted us there quickly. To be frank, sir, I think he was worried that Sir Marmaduke Hamngton-Smythe would go back there and, well, scuttle the ship as it were. Over.'

The Brigadier thought about that. Harrington-Smythe was a spectre from his past who somehow always reared his ugly head at inopportune moments. He'd been there at Sandhurst, always trying to get him and the other sappers into disciplinary cases; he had been there after that business with International Electromatics, offering to buy the company up, and when that failed (the Government bought it out itself), he set up the Glasshouse. It was generally believed in the better circles that both his knighthood and CBE were pacifiers to keep him quiet and sweet. He had a knack for finding out the truth about less-than-public-interest events - that was how he'd know that an institution like the Glasshouse would be useful.

If Sir John Sudbury had upset him too much, he was malicious enough to make trouble. 'Do as Sudbury asks, Benton. Take a small squad of men you trust implicitly. I don't want a word of this getting out. Remember not even everyone at UNIT knows of the Glasshouse's existence. Over.'

'Understood, sir. Over and out.'