Doctor Who: The Enemy of the World (3 page)

‘Mikhail Assevski—Controller Central Asian Zone.

Drowned 100 metres off shore in Lake Baikal. Assevski was a former Olympic Marathon-Swim Gold Medallist.

‘Lars Helvig—Arctic Zone Deputy. Found dead in his office, supposed suicide but no known reason.

‘John Freremont—European Zone Commissioner.

Brutally murdered. No arrests were ever made.

‘Jean Ferrier—’ Here Kent paused and glanced across at Astrid. She was staring out of the window at the gathering darkness. Kent cleared his throat and continued.

‘Jean Ferrier—Finance Deputy, European Zone. An expert skier but disappeared, presumed dead, on nursery slopes in perfect weather...’

Kent switched the video machine off. There was a long and heavy silence.

Eventually the Doctor went across to Astrid and laid his hand gently on her shoulder. ‘Your father?’ he asked softly.

She nodded and then turned to him, her green eyes brimming with tears, which she abruptly brushed away.

‘Doctor, all those men had met with Salamander or with his sidekick, Benik, very shortly before their deaths,’ she said, putting on a brave face.

‘And they were all replaced by stooges, by men known to be in Salamander’s pocket,’ Kent added.

The Doctor turned to him sharply. ‘Known by whom?’

‘By me, Doctor.’

‘Then why didn’t you bring Salamander to justice?’ he asked.

Kent thumped the desk in frustration. ‘Don’t you understand? I’m discredited and Salamander gets more popular every day. Worst of all the WZO security supremo is a man called Donald Bruce and he’s convinced I’m out to avenge myself on that repulsive reptile. He watches me like a hawk.’

The Doctor looked doubtful. ‘If Salamander’s methods are as crude as you suggest, surely other people besides yourself must suspect him. You must have allies, Mr Kent.’

‘Oh sure, except that most of them are dead.’ Kent began to move agitatedly around the office. ‘Now there’s really only Alexander Denes, Controller of Central European Zone,’ he went on, ‘and he’s so damned cautious, he’s more of a liability than an ally.’

‘Well’, the Doctor murmured, ‘the situation seems to be: do we believe Mr Kent or do we not?’

There was an embarrassing pause.

At last Kent broke the silence. ‘There is a way you can find out for yourself, Doctor,’ he said. ‘Impersonate Salamander and penetrate his organisation.’

‘I thought you would never ask me!’ exclaimed the Doctor. Thrusting his hands deep into his sagging pockets, he began to walk animatedly up and down. ‘But there is a great deal more to it than mere appearance. What about the voice? The problem of phonetics?’ He stopped by the windows for a moment, muttering quietly away to himself.

Then he turned to face the others, frowning with concentration. ‘I can announce today that the Mark 3

Suncatcher is successfully in orbit. I can tell you that in the great Siberian plains the wheat is ripening in the sun,’ he said, quoting from Salamander’s speech.

Victoria clapped eagerly. Giles Kent and Astrid Ferrier were obviously astounded at the Doctor’s mimicry.

‘Yes, yes, I think I’ve got quite close,’ he mused, reverting to his own voice. He turned to Giles. ‘I’d say he comes from Mexico—Yucatan or Quintana Roo perhaps?’

Kent seized his arm delightedly. ‘Amazing. Salamander was born in Mérida, the state capital of Yucatan,’ he cried.

‘Doctor, you’re a genius.’

The Doctor bowed modestly, clearly pleased with himself. ‘I fancy I could get it in time. But suppose I do, Kent. What then?’

Giles led him over to the large wall map. ‘Simple, Doctor. You walk into Salamander’s Research Centre at Kanowa here, find out what he’s up to, and there’s your proof. I keep some spare clothes in the other office, Doctor.

Fortunately we are about the same size. Would you like to try dressing up for the part?’

Suddenly heavy footsteps and voices were heard out in the lobby. Kent grabbed hold of the Doctor, pushed him into the inner office and closed the door.

At the same instant the outer door flew open and two armed WZO guards crashed into the office and stood flanking the doorway, covering the four startled occupants with streamlined automatic pistols. Close behind them a very large gray-haired man walked slowly into the office, his small rimless spectacles flashing as he took in the scene, a faint humourless smile playing around his fleshy mouth. ‘Hallo, Kent. Been doing a wee bit of recruiting, have we?’ he remarked in his unexpectedly soft, resonant voice. He surveyed Jamie and Victoria in turn, his tongue prodding his pale cheek. ‘Bit young for terrorists, aren’t they?’ he laughed.

Victoria stepped forward, her chin jutting forward defiantly. ‘What do you mean?’ she demanded.

‘All right, Bruce. To what do we owe this pleasure?’

Kent inquired.

Donald Bruce ignored him. ‘Identify yourselves!’ he rapped at the two outlandishly dressed teenagers.

‘James Robert McCrimmon and Miss Victoria Waterfield,’ said Jamie, with exaggerated emphasis.

The security supremo studied him for a while, his eyes invisible behind the flashing spectacles. Then he turned abruptly to Astrid. ‘That bungalow out in Cedar Distric belongs to you, I believe.’

Astrid nodded but said nothing.

Bruce lumbered heavily over to her. ‘No doubt you are here to explain to Mr Kent why three of his employees are lying dead on your property.’

Astrid met Bruce’s harsh stare and remained silent.

‘You were seen at the bungalow late this afternoon in the company of these two kids and another stranger,’ Bruce continued. ‘Let’s deal with this other man first, shall we?’

He snapped his fingers and pointed to the door of the inner office.

One guard stamped across to open it, while the other covered the door with his machine pistol.

Victoria would have cried out with astonishment if Jamie had not quickly given her hand a sharp warning squeeze, for out of the inner office stepped Salamander.

‘Good evening, Bruce,’ he purred, with a dazzling smile.

‘What are you doing here?’

Even in the bright fluorescent lighting the transformation was miraculous. The Doctor had sleeked back his hair and fluffed up his eyebrows. His face seemed longer and his eyes deeper-set than usual. Even his mouth looked thicker-lipped and it curled slightly when he spoke.

Kent’s plain but smart black jacket fitted perfectly and the Doctor had pinned the fresh white shirt at his throat with an expensive-looking clasp. The Doctor’s shabby check trousers had been replaced by dark tapering slacks. But it was the voice which really clinched the effect.

Bruce was completely flabbergasted. His pasty complexion flushed as he tried to recover his composure.

‘Good... good evening, Leader. I was under the impression that you had travelled to the Central European Zone yesterday,’ he faltered.

The Doctor nodded. ‘You were meant to think so.’

Waving the guard aside, he walked into the centre of the office with Salamander’s characteristic short strides and upright posture.

Bruce frowned unhappily. ‘But Leader, how can I possibly provide security if I am misinformed about your movements?’

‘My dear Bruce, you have a policeman’s mind,’ the Doctor said wearily. ‘I am sorry for you.’

Bruce walked heavily across to the Doctor and murmured confidentially into his ear. ‘Leader we have always agreed that this man Kent is a bad security risk.

You ordered constant surveillance and regular reports on his activities. Now I fmd you here in his office. I feel I am entitled to some explanation.’

The Doctor gave a loud patronising laugh. ‘Of course you shall receive an explanation,’ he cried, ‘when I return from Europe. For the present I am pursuing some highly confidential matters personally, is that clear? I shall see you on my return from Europe. Now go, before you anger me.’

Bruce hesistated for a few seconds, staring uncertainly at the Doctor and desperately anxious to find out what was going on. Finally he lumbered out, followed by the two WZO policemen.

Once they heard the lift doors close out in the lobby, Giles, Victoria and Jamie gathered round the Doctor to congratulate him on his performance.

Giles shook the Doctor’s hand vigorously. ‘You were fantastic. It worked like a dream,’ he cried. ‘Are you with us now?’

The Doctor shrugged. ‘I don’t yet know what you stand for Mr Kent. You and Salamander are clearly on opposite sides, but which side is good and which bad? Why should I interfere?’

‘To save the world,’ Astrid told him quietly.

‘But isn’t that exactly what Salamander is trying to do?’

Victoria objected.

The Doctor was silently ruffling his hair back into its familiar mop as he wandered across to the wall map.

‘Salamander is at present in Central Europe and we are in Australia,’ he mused.

Astrid hurried over to join him. ‘We can be there in two hours by orbitliner,’ she told him, ‘and we can start at once.’

Kent bounded over to his desk. ‘I have been preparing a plan to infiltrate Salamander’s inner circle for some months. It can easily be adapted to suit your two friends,’

he said breathlessly, taking some documents from a secret compartment. ‘Here are all the necessary travel papers.’

The Doctor looked surprised, and then smiled knowingly. ‘Only three intrepid travellers, Mr Kent?’ he exclaimed, examining the documents spread over the desk.

Giles nodded. ‘Astrid and your two companions.’

Victoria glanced apprehensively at Jamie, but he was following the proceedings with eager attention.

‘Meanwhile, you and I will investigate Salamander’s little set-up at Kanowa, Mr Kent,’ the Doctor said, adopting his Salamander voice and sending a sudden chill through them all.

Soon after dawn the following morning, Donald Bruce arrived at the Kanowa Research Centre situated in the hills 150 kilometres southwest of Melville. The rising sun glinted majestically on the complex of enormous parabolic dishes and angled mirrors which formed the collector array of Salamander’s revolutionary Sunstore system. The installation was scattered over ten square kilometres and was entirely enclosed within a series of buzzing electrified fences. Bruce felt uncomfortable in this mysterious scientific world full of sealed, humming chambers and hazard warning signs. There was something terrifying about the huge solar collectors which turned slowly, tracking the sun as it moved across the sky. Bruce almost shivered as he waited impatiently in the office of the Deputy Director, Theodore Benik.

Eventually Benik arrived. He was shorter than Bruce, with a thin body and a face like the front of a skull. Short black hair straggled across his forehead in a ragged fringe and his large red ears stuck out slightly. Huge eyes burned in deep sockets and the small mouth was drawn tightly over the teeth.

‘I’m busy, Bruce. I can spare you ten minutes,’ he snapped in his thin high voice. His dislike for the Security Commissioner was completely undisguised.

Bruce controlled himself with difficulty at this blatant disregard for his authority. ‘Salamander... He did go to the Central European Zone?’ he asked.

‘Well, if
you
don’t know, then who does?’ Benik replied with heavy sarcasm, glancing through the papers he was carrying. ‘Noon orbitliner, day before yesterday,’ he added without looking up.

Bruce walked to the window and turned, a large figure silhoutted against the growing daylight. ‘I have just flown here from a meeting with Salamander in Melville,’ he announced. ‘In Giles Kent’s office,’ Bruce concluded dramatically.

For a moment Benik looked as though he were going to burst out laughing. Then he moved up to the desk and flung down the papers. ‘That bastard Kent’s got his filthy hands on the Leader,’ he shouted, staring wildly at Bruce.

‘You incompetent gorilla! Don’t you see? He must have some hold over him, right under your nose.’

Bruce remained calm. ‘Salamander was in control of the situation. He only needed to bat an eyelid and I’d have knocked off everyone else in sight.’

Benik leaned on the desk, tensed like a dog preparing to spring. ‘Something’s going on,’ he murmured menacingly.

Bruce was glad to have the advantage of the light behind him so that Benik could not detect the uncertainty in his eyes. During the flight to Kanowa he had been forced to admit to himself that Salamander had seemed strangely different during the meeting, and he was worried about the puzzle of the third man seen at Astrid Ferrier’s bungalow.

However, he drew himself upright with an authoritative air. ‘It is vital to establish that all is well with Salamander,’

he told Benik. ‘You have direct radio contact with him.

Check with him personally when he reaches Budapest for the Conference.’

Benik pointed out that the Leader had ordered that he was not to be disturbed until the Conference was over.

‘All right. As soon as it ends then,’ Bruce thundered.

‘And let me have a full report as soon as you have spoken to him.’

With that Bruce stamped out of the office.

3

A heavy gray sky hung over the old Hungarian capital of Budapest. On the terrace of the ancient Tisza Palace—now part of the headquarters of the Central European Zone Authority—three men were deeply involved in an urgent discussion concerning the threat of imminent volcanic activity in the area. Two of them, Alexander Denes, the Zone Controller, and his deputy, Nicholas Fedorin, were sitting at a wrought-iron table over which was spread a large geological map of the Zone. Salamander himself was standing beside them, indicating various points on the map.

‘Volcanic eruptions here?’ Denes exclaimed incredulously in a soft Slavonic voice, clasping his pudgy hands together. He was a plump, fleshy-faced man with high shoulders and no neck. His eyes were intelligent and good-humoured. His thinning, wispy gray hair was combed sideways across the top of his head, which was large with a high forehead. ‘But I cannot believe it, it is impossible. What do you think, Nicholas?’