Genesis Of The Doctor - A Doctor Who Story

25 - Interrogation

"I look ridiculous," moaned Clive, looking at his handlebar moustache and blonde wig in the rear-view mirror of the white Bedford van in which they were sitting.  Two weeks had passed since John Smith and Clive had met and they were taking some decisive action.  "The wig looks totally fake on me," Clive said dejectedly, pointing at his brown cheek.

"It doesn't matter, this isn't a beauty contest.  You're not trying to impress anyone, quite the opposite in fact."

"I suppose not. I guess I am fairly unrecognisable."

"Now, you are sure you remember the route?" asked Smith.  "It's crucial that we time this right."

"We've been over this five times!  I've got it. Okay?"

"Right then, let's do this thing."

The two exited the van and set off in different directions.  Smith was wearing a black suit, white shirt and black tie above which he wore a slate grey motorcycle helmet with a tinted visor.  He walked with quick strides to the end of the back street he was on and turned the corner to enter a busy London shopping precinct.

Smith waited until he could see Clive coming toward him from a block away and then started walking.  As Clive neared the central point of the street he raised his arm in a prearranged signal.  Smith quickened his pace and caught up with the medium height, casually dressed young man that Clive had just passed just as they approached the street corner.  Smith took a package from his pocket and grasping the man from behind, pressed it into his face.

As the chloroform took effect the man's legs buckled and he collapsed to the pavement.  Smith took his weight and supported his unconscious body, dragging him towards the van which was waiting on the back street.  Clive was already there and as they approached he pulled open the van's dented rear door.  Together they bundled the prone form of the man into the space beyond.  Smith jumped into the van himself and Clive secured the doors and made his way to the front.  The van sped away with a screech of tyres, Clive behind the wheel.

Later with the van parked in a dark underground car park in another part of London the young man in the back came to with a start, opening his eyes and sitting bolt upright, a look of shock and fear on his face.  Opposite him Smith, still unrecognisable in his motorcycle helmet, turned and thumped the van wall twice.  He reached forward and pulled a string of multi-coloured wires from on top of the man's head, shoving then into a pocket.  The engine started and the van pulled away at speed, toppling the captive who at that point realised that he was chained to the van's wall.  With real terror in his voice he screamed, "What do you want?  Please, what have I done?  Why are you doing this? Please. Please don't do this."

"I'm sorry, I'm really sorry to put you through this," said Smith in as reassuring a voice as he could muster, muffled as it was by the motorcycle helmet.  I'm sorry but it's not you I want to talk to.  I want to talk to the thing inside of you."

"The what?  The what?  What are you talking about?  Please, I haven't done anything.  Please let me go."  He started to shout, "Help! Help!"

Smith took off his motorcycle helmet and looked the young man directly in the eyes.  He knew he was taking a massive risk here with his un-tested electronic contact lenses; he was working on a theory and could very well be infected by the Myriad instantly.  Ignoring the young man's screams he asked in a level voice, "What's your name?"

The man stopped shouting and looked at Smith.  "It's M, m, Mike," he stammered, "Mike Davis." And then it came - his eyes flashed red, just for an instant.  Smith tried not to flinch or to look away. 

Nothing happened.  Smith was elated - he felt exactly as he had before, unchanged.  His gamble had worked!  Briefly he wondered at the possibility that he might be infected without knowing it just as this Mike obviously was but Jansky had known and he felt he too would know.  Clive would be able to confirm things either way later but for now he felt sure that he was clear.

Smith leaned forward towards Mike, swaying as the van turned sharply and then he grasped his arm.  "I want you to look at this Mike," he said producing an object from his pocket.  It was an egg-shaped globe of solid glass within which was embedded a model of a clown riding a bicycle.  "Look at the clown's watch," he suggested, his voice taking on a deeper, softer tone. "Look at how the second hand goes around and around.  Count your way from one second to another.  Tick, tock, tick, tock."  In reality, fixed in glass as it was the second hand did not move.

Mike sat stock still, his eyes fixed upon the clown's watch and its imaginary second hand.  "Okay Mike," intoned Smith hypnotically.  "In a moment I am going to snap my fingers and you Mike will slip away into a deep sleep. But," and he paused, "I want to talk to the thing inside of you...  I want to talk to the Myriad."

"Don't waste your time!" Mike interrupted.  But it was no longer Mike talking - the voice was high and reedy like that of a child yet somehow at the same time it seemed impossibly ancient, "You are talking to us now, you are talking to the Myriad."

Nearby, within a Whitehall C19 facility Smith's words were being repeated perfectly as if from a recording of his voice.  His words however were coming from the mouth of a young woman seated opposite Mortimer Frisk, "I want to talk to the thing inside of you..."

To Mortimer's side an operative confirmed, "Positive voice match.  It is him."

Mortimer commanded, "Search and locate.  Bedford van, late 90s model, likely white, Bermondsey area, travelling at approximately 45 kilometres per hour."

Back in the van 'Mike' turned his head towards Smith, his face was twisted into a rictus grimace making it look like a hideous mask.  "Give it up," he screeched.  "Once we reach the Threshold those such as you that cannot become one with us will die."

"Fair enough," replied Smith, continuing to keep his voice calm in contrast to the almost hysterical tones of 'Mike'.  "What's the 'Threshold'?  What do you mean?"

There came a loud thumping noise from the front of the van; a signal from Clive that they were becoming short of time.  Smith looked towards the sound.

'Mike' lurched forward, straining against his bonds.  His Ramones T shirt was thrust towards Smith's face.  Smith recoiled as 'Mike' ranted, "We know where you are! We're coming for you Theta Sigma!"

That was that, all he needed - he had learned enough.  Smith took another chloroform package from his pocket and reached forward to press it over Mike Davis' face, holding the back of his head until he slumped forward.  "Sorry Mike," he said, "but you've said enough."

Smith donned the motorcycle helmet and once again banged twice on the van wall.  The van accelerated and Smith positioned himself next to its doors.  After a few moments he heard Clive's shout, "Go!" He thrust open the van doors and jumped into the darkness beyond.  The van continued on its way.

Smith rolled along the ground and came to rest at Clive's feet.  Clive pulled him upright.  They were in a long, empty tunnel, far from either tunnel entrance.  Their white Bedford van could be seen exiting the tunnel on its own to the south.

"I hope it was worth it," Clive said.

"It was," answered Smith, "but they're certainly onto me now.  Time to lie low.  Let's go!"  They turned and ran for a door further along the tunnel wall.

In his Whitehall headquarters Mortimer Frisk quizzed his nearest aide, "Progress on the van?"

"Continuing along Sydenham road and accelerating.  Its driving pattern suggests evasive manoeuvring.  We are no longer in rapport with Mike Davis.  The van will be intercepted by our police road block within three minutes.

The white Bedford van continued on its pre-programmed route, carrying its sole unconscious occupant safely through the London streets.