Doctor Who: Players: 50th Anniversary Edition

by Dicks, Terrance

  The Doctor looked over his shoulder. The black Mercedes was parked some way back, waiting patiently for them to go on.’ Hmm. Yes, you may have a point.’

  ‘Besides,’ said Dekker, ‘what are they going to send? A bobby on a bicycle? The cops here don’t even carry guns.’

  The Doctor nodded, accepting the inevitable. All they’d achieve by calling the police was to risk getting some unarmed English policeman killed.

  The Doctor assumed an expression of exaggerated interest. ‘So, what do you suggest we do?’

  Dekker was studying the map. ‘We’re getting close to Chartwell now. If they’re going to make a move it’ll have to be soon. The road’s narrower and twistier up ahead… Right, let’s go.’

  The Doctor got out of the car and paid the attendant, while Dekker slid over to the passenger seat and the Doctor went round to the driver’s side and got behind the wheel. They pulled out of the garage and drove on their way. In his driving mirror, the Doctor saw the Mercedes start moving again.

  ‘What do you reckon we’re up against, Doctor?’ asked Dekker.

  ‘In what sense?’

  ‘Numbers, arms, experience, that kinda thing.’

  The Doctor considered. ‘I’m more or less convinced that that Mercedes is a German Embassy car. Not Ribbentrop’s monster model, but an Embassy car all the same. And that indicates it’s probably packed with German Embassy domestic staff – in other words, armed SS men, trained killers, all of them.’

  Dekker nodded grimly. ‘How many?’

  ‘Say about half-a-dozen.’

  The Doctor’s tone was breezy, but Dekker noticed the concern in his eyes.

  ‘What do you think they’ll do?’

  ‘Well, any sensible assassins would try to force us off the road, to make our deaths look like an accident. I imagine they’ll try that first. If that doesn’t work then they’ll just riddle us with bullets and take refuge in their diplomatic immunity.’

  ‘OK,’ said Dekker. ‘So what we need is some kind of edge. Something to give us an unexpected advantage. Luckily I brought a few souvenirs of Chicago over here with me. For purely sentimental reasons, you understand.’

  He bent down, reached behind the driver’s seat and came up with a gun. It was short, almost stubby, with a round drum-magazine at the centre.

  The Doctor glanced quickly at it. ‘Is that what I think it is?’

  ‘A Chicago piano,’ nodded Dekker.

  ‘Strictly speaking, it’s a Thompson sub-machine gun,’ said the Doctor, sighing. ‘Point-45 calibre shells in a fifty-round drum.’

  ‘Used to be very popular in my neck of the woods,’ Dekker grinned. ‘It’s what I call an edge. Right, here’s what you do. Step on the gas, as if you’re trying to lose them. If you take them by surprise we can pull ahead for a while.’ He paused. ‘As soon as you see a sharp bend, swing round it, drive on a while, then slew the car across the road and stop.’

  ‘And then?’ ventured the Doctor, smiling with exaggerated bonhomie.

  ‘Then leave the rest to me.’

  ‘Very well,’ said the Doctor. ‘This may seem a foolish request under the circumstances, Mr Dekker – but please, try not to kill anybody!’

  ‘Let’s leave it this way,’ said Dekker grimly. ‘I won’t kill anyone I don’t have to! Fair enough?’

  The Doctor remained silent. Soon, they came to a long straight stretch of road with a sharp bend to the left at the far end.

  ‘This looks like the place, Doctor,’ said Dekker. ‘Let her go!’

  The Rolls Royce surged forward…

  It took the SS driver at the wheel of the Mercedes a few seconds to realise that the Rolls Royce was drawing away from him. By that time the car was disappearing around the bend.

  The SS man smiled, confident in his car’s superior speed and his own driving skills. His quarry had no chance of escape.

  ‘All right,’ he snapped in German. ‘We’ll take them now.’

  The five other SS men crowded into the car drew their guns as the Mercedes streaked down the straight stretch of road and made a racing turn to the right.

  The driver saw the Rolls barring the road ahead, and tried desperately to slow down. At the same time he saw a very large man in a trenchcoat step out from behind the Rolls. The SS driver was a great admirer of American gangster films, a devoted fan of James Cagney and Edward G. Robinson.

  The weapon in the big man’s hands was dreadfully familiar.

  ‘Tommy-gun!’ screamed the SS driver – and the world exploded in nerve-shattering noise. Dekker’s first burst raked across the windscreen of the Mercedes. As he’d half-expected, its glass was bullet proof.

  The windscreen didn’t shatter but it starred and clouded under the impact of the hail of bullets.

  Dekker’s second burst raked the Mercedes’ tyres, two of which immediately exploded. The big car plunged off the road, crashing through the hedge and bogging down in the muddy ploughed field beyond.

  Dekker took a metal sphere from his trenchcoat pocket, pulled the pin and tossed it not at, but close to, the stranded Mercedes.

  Seconds later an explosion rocked the car, sending up a shower of mud.

  The SS men in the car had carried out many ambushes and assassinations back in Hitler’s Germany. But their targets had mostly been afraid and unarmed – politicians, intellectuals, trade-unionists and the like. None of their previous victims had ever fought back with such instant ferocity, and such devastating fire-power.

  Terrified, they scrambled out of the car and fled across the ploughed field – six burly, crop-headed men in ill-fitting navy-blue suits.

  Dekker raised the tommy-gun.

  The Doctor grabbed him by the shoulder. ‘Mr Dekker…’

  Dekker laughed. ‘Don’t worry, Doctor, these tommys are mostly for effect. You couldn’t hit a barn with one if you were standing inside it!’ With an accuracy that belied his words, he sent a burst over the heads of the fleeing men.

  A second burst sent up an enormous spray of mud at their heels.

  Cradling the tommy-gun, Dekker took a second grenade from his pocket and tossed it some way behind the fast-disappearing group.

  The explosion sent them haring across the field even faster. One by one they vanished through the hedge on the other side.

  Dekker levelled the tommy-gun and went cautiously up to the Mercedes. Checking that it was empty, he tossed a third grenade just under the petrol tank and jumped back as the car exploded in smoke and flames.

  He tossed the tommy-gun into the back of the Rolls and turned to the Doctor, a broad grin on his face.

  ‘OK, Doctor? They’ll have a long trip home and a very expensive chunk of Embassy equipment to account for!’

  The Doctor sighed. ‘Very efficient, Mr Dekker. But don’t you think we might perhaps have searched that vehicle for clues?’

  Dekker grinned. ‘Everyone told me that England was gonna be peaceful,’ he said. ‘But what I say is, it don’t do no harm to be prepared!’ He got back behind the wheel of the car. ‘We’d better get a move on, Doctor, or we’ll be late for lunch.’

  To Peri’s relief, lunch didn’t take place in the big dining room. Wallis had obviously realised that four guests would be lost in its grandeur. Instead, a lavish buffet was served in the sitting-room.

  But why were there only three other guests? wondered Peri. She’d have expected Wallis to entertain on a much grander scale.

  The uneasy feeling was rising in her that this lunch had been arranged so that she and the Doctor could meet the Count, the Countess and von Ribbentrop.

  And now it was all for her benefit.

  As a social occasion the lunch was heavy going. The food itself was excellent. White-coated waiters served canapés, caviare, smoked salmon, chicken, cold meats, all accompanied by champagne – or in Peri’s case, by more orange juice. Von Ribbentrop and Wallis did most of the talking, sitting close together on one of the overstuffed sofas. It was clear that the two of them w
ere close friends – very close friends in Peri’s estimation. Much of their conversation was malicious gossip about people of whom Peri had never heard.

  The Count and Countess listened to this gossip with benign indifference for a while. Then, politely but persistently, they began questioning Peri – confirming her growing suspicions that it was the Doctor they were really interested in, and that she was here merely as a source of information.

  ‘Such a fascinating man,’ purred the Countess. ‘Have you known him long?’

  ‘Since I was a child,’ said Peri. ‘Our families have been friends for years.’

  ‘And how do you come to be travelling together?’ asked the Count.

  ‘Well, the Doctor arrived suddenly from Santa Esmerelda, and announced he was coming to London to be their Honorary Consul. I’d always wanted to come to Europe so I begged him to let me come with him, at least for a while,’ She smiled. ‘He was kind enough to agree.’

  ‘And your family did not see anything improper in this?’ asked the Countess. ‘Such a thing would have been considered scandalous in the extreme when I was a girl. A beautiful young girl, travelling alone with such a very attractive man!’

  These people are all obsessed with sex, thought Peri. But there was something gently mocking in the Countess’s tone. Peri knew that the question wasn’t really serious – she was being teased. It was hard not to like the Countess.

  She answered with an air of wide-eyed innocence.

  ‘Improper? Good heavens no. The Doctor is like a second father to me. He bounced me on his knee when I was a baby.’

  ‘Indeed?’ said the Count sceptically. ‘Yet he scarcely appears old enough to be your father!’

  ‘I thought you’d never met,’ said Peri innocently.

  ‘We’re not sure if we have encountered your friend the Doctor before,’ said the Count. ‘If we did it was many years ago. Perhaps he is greatly changed.’

  ‘The Doctor is a very changeable man,’ said Peri with feeling. ‘And he’s much older than he looks!’

  ‘Yes,’ said the Count. ‘I am sure he is.’

  Feeling things were getting too close to home, Peri decided to go on the attack. ‘And how about you two?’ she asked sweetly. ‘Have you known each other long? Are you related? Or are you just good friends?’

  The Count wasn’t happy with this turn in the conversation. ‘Really, young lady! Such questions border upon the impertinent…’

  ‘My dear Ludwig,’ said the Countess. ‘You are being unreasonable. We have asked questions and we must be prepared to answer them – as honestly as Miss Brown herself has answered us.’ She gave Peri a mocking smile. ‘The Count and I have been friends for many years,’ she said. ‘Not family friends, like you and the Doctor. We have no family, alas. Except for a few others like us, we are alone in your world.’

  Peri’s eyes narrowed. ‘In my world?’

  The Countess’s eyes widened in innocence. ‘Is that not the expression? Forgive my English.’

  ‘Yeah. That’s a point, Where do you really come from?’ asked Peri. ‘Originally?’

  ‘I come from Hungary, the Count from Scandinavia. But for many years we have been exiles from our homelands. We are international. Citizens of Europe – of the world!’

  Von Ribbentrop joined in the conversation.

  ‘Today we must all be citizens of the world,’ he said. ‘The Fuehrer himself recognises this. It is particularly important for the Aryan races to stand together. We Germans, the British, the Americans… Already Germany has many friends in England. With America too we we are forging bonds of friendship. The German-American Bund for instance.’

  Peri was puzzled. ‘What’s a Bund?’

  ‘Bruderbund,’ said von Ribbentrop. ‘The bonds of brotherhood. It is an organisation of Americans with German origins.’

  ‘People who come to America become Americans,’ said Peri. ‘That’s the whole idea!’

  ‘The Fatherland is hard to forget,’ said von Ribbentrop.

  ‘And here? In England?’ asked Peri. ‘Not so many German immigrants here.’

  ‘Here the link is spiritual,’ said von Ribbentrop. ‘There are many who think as we do, in the Government, in the aristocracy…’

  There was the ring of a telephone. Moments later a waiter came up to von Ribbentrop and whispered in his ear.

  Von Ribbentrop rose. ‘If you will forgive me?’

  They heard his voice speaking in German coming from the hall.

  Suddenly it rose to a scream. ‘Was? Feigling! Dummkopf! Ich komme!’

  The Count and Countess were listening with keen interest.

  ‘“Everybody fled”,’ murmured the Countess. ‘“Cowards and fools!” It sounds as if our friend von Ribbentrop has suffered some kind of setback!’

  Von Ribbentrop marched back into the room, practically shaking with anger. ‘I am afraid I must leave you. A problem back at the Embassy.’

  ‘Something is wrong?’ asked the Countess.

  ‘An operation has failed…’ He scowled.

  ‘I see,’ said the Count. ‘Badly?’

  ‘Total failure. I really must be going.’ He took Wallis’s hand and kissed it. ‘Forgive me, dear lady.’

  Seizing the opportunity, Peri rose to her feet. ‘I must be going too.’ She turned to Wallis. ‘If you could possibly arrange a taxi for me?’

  The Count said, ‘Why don’t you give our young friend a lift, Herr von Ribbentrop?’

  Von Ribbentrop turned to Peri and bowed. ‘But of course! With the greatest of pleasure.’

  ‘Oh, I wouldn’t dream of troubling you,’ said Peri, quickly.

  ‘Please, you must allow me,’ said von Ribbentrop. ‘Believe me, it is no trouble. No trouble at all.’

  He led Peri to the window, and pointed to the huge black limousine in the street below. ‘My car is waiting – it is always waiting. One of the privileges of a diplomat’s life. Taking you home means only the smallest of detours on my way back to the Embassy.’

  He tapped on the window and beckoned to the black-uniformed driver who stood waiting by the car.

  Peri was feeling increasingly uneasy.

  ‘Thank you, but no,’ she said firmly. ‘The Doctor insists I always take a taxi.’

  ‘I am afraid we can accept no refusal,’ said the Count. He rose to his feet, and he and von Ribbentrop came closer.

  Peri prepared to fight.

  There was a tap on the door and Wallis went to open it. Two burly black-uniformed men came into the room.

  Peri looked round for help.

  The servants had all disappeared.

  ‘Let us not have an undignified struggle,’ said the Count. ‘We may have lost the Doctor – but we most certainly have you!’

  Wallis and the Countess both stood motionless as the Count, von Ribbentrop, and the two SS men closed in on Peri.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CONFERENCE

  WHEN THE ROLLS Royce drove down the drive and drew up outside Chartwell Manor, Winston Churchill, cigar in mouth, was waiting on the steps to greet his guests.

  He gave them an expansive wave of welcome. ‘Drive your vehicle around to the back, gentlemen,’ he called. ‘There is adequate parking space there, and it will be better concealed from the road. No point in making life easier for our enemies if we are observed.’

  They drove around to a little yard at the back of the old house. Puffing contentedly upon his huge cigar, Churchill strolled round after them.

  ‘The old boy really loves it here,’ the Doctor muttered. ‘He’s very much the Lord of the Manor!’

  The Doctor and Dekker got out of the car, and stood gazing around them. The view was well worth looking at. The old red-brick manor house stood in its own rolling grounds, surrounded by trees. Here at the back, steps led down to a huge sunken lawn, at the bottom of which was a reed-fringed lake.

  Even Tom Dekker, a big city man if ever there was one, was impressed. ‘Genuine old-world English charm,’
he said. ‘Just like a picture book!’

  Churchill smiled, pleased by their enthusiasm. ‘I bought it sixteen years ago, for five thousand pounds,’ he rumbled. ‘A substantial sum in those days. And it was a ruin! Still, enough of my domestic concerns. Did you have a good journey, gentlemen?’

  ‘It was a little over-eventful,’ said the Doctor, smiling grimly.

  He gave a brief account of the way they had been followed and eventually attacked by the SS thugs in their Mercedes-Benz.

  Churchill was outraged. ‘The scoundrels! To attempt a villainous and brutal act in the quiet Kentish countryside, so close to my home! Yet you are here, gentlemen, and apparently safe and sound. What was the outcome of this dastardly attempt to destroy you?’

  The Doctor told him the rest of the story, much to Churchill’s delight.

  ‘And so you beat the rascals off? Splendid! That will make them think twice before essaying more such villainy. Doctor Smith, Mr Dekker, I congratulate you both upon a most notable victory!’

  He insisted on seeing and handling Dekker’s tommy-gun, waving it dangerously to and fro, shooting down legions of imaginary SS men. ‘You should’ve mown the rascals down!’ growled Churchill.

  The Doctor winced. ‘Mr Dekker, perhaps…’

  Gently Dekker removed the weapon from Churchill’s grasp and put it back in the car. ‘The Doctor was against the mowing-down approach,’ he said, covering the gun with his trench-coat and locking the car door.

  ‘I thought it might be rather tactless to litter your peaceful Kentish countryside with Nazi corpses,’ explained the Doctor.

  Churchill frowned. ‘This countryside may well be littered with Nazi corpses soon enough,’ he said. ‘And English ones too, unless we are very fortunate…’ He broke off. ‘Still, enough of such matters for now. Drinks first and then lunch. Clemmie is away for the day, but I have asked an old friend of mine to meet you…’

  He led them into the house, along a corridor and into a comfortable study, a pleasant, old-fashioned room with a huge oak beam running across the ceiling.

  A tall man with greying hair was standing by the mantelpiece, a glass of whisky in his hand.