by Ian Marter
'Turn round!' rapped the first guard.
The driver refused. You can't force me back into the compound.'
The next moment he flinched as a cold pistol barrel was shoved against his temple. 'We're not on International Electromatix property now,' he persisted, defiantly slipping the truck into gear. 'You've got no authority out here.'
The safety catch clicked off.
'You want me, arrested, you get the police!' he shouted, revving the engine.
The next moment half the driver's head had been blown off all over the inside of the cab. The truck lurched forward and then toppled sideways into the ditch. A stack of papier-mache trays crashed through the open back doors and hundreds of vivid yellow egg yolks started merging and congealing on the hot black tar.
Intermittent spots of rain were falling from the overcast London sky as the Doctor led Zoe and Jamie up the steps of a tall terraced house with flaking pillared porch in Bayswater. Tired and hungry, they stared gloomily at the nameplate above the bell-push.
'That's odd,' frowned the Doctor. It says "Professor Watkins".' He shrugged and pressed the button. 'Still, the telephone directory said number thirteen...'
'It would!' Zoe grumbled, scowling up at the tarnished chrome 13 on the door.
They waited. The Doctor rang again and peered through the frosted glass panes.
'Och, dinna tell me we've come all this way for nothing,' Jamie mumbled dejectedly.
Just then a distorted white shape appeared behind the glass and the door was flung open.
'I happen to be trying to work.' The tall girl turned on her heel and stalked off down the bare shabby hall, leaving them stranded on the doorstep.
The Doctor cleared his throat politely. 'I'm so sorry, miss... We're looking for Professor Travers...' He motioned the others to follow him and ventured after her.
They found the girl in a large high-ceilinged room which was virtually empty except for several powerful lamps on stands scattered about and an expensive camera mounted on a tripod. Huge blown-up photographs, mostly of the girl herself, were pinned haphazardly around the white walls.
'And now the beastly thing's jammed!' snapped the girl, fiddling angrily with the camera shutter. She was taller than Zoe, with long fair hair, wide mouth and high cheekbones. Her dazzling dress was cut well above the knee and her shapely legs were clad in stylish knee-length boots.
'Perhaps I can mend it for you?' the Doctor suggested, wincing at the colourful geometrical pattern on her dress.
'It was on automatic shutter.'
'I see,' smiled the Doctor. 'Taking pictures of yourself?'
'Until you interrupted me. Then it stuck.'
The Doctor examined the camera while Zoe glanced at the photographs admiringly and Jamie gaped open-mouthed at the flamboyant figure as she re-arranged her hair in a huge mirror propped against the ornate mantelpiece.
'By the way, if you've come to see my uncle he's not here,' the girl informed them abruptly. 'I presume you're another nut, a fellow boffin,' she said disapprovingly, glancing at the Doctor's dishevelled reflection.
'I'm seeking Professor Travers's help,' murmured the Doctor, poking thoughtfully at the camera's mechanism with his penknife.
'Travers has gone to the States for a year with his daughter,' shrugged the girl.
Jamie nudged Zoe irritably. 'Och, another wild-goose chase,' he muttered bitterly.
The girl glared at the wild-looking young Highlander and then went on. 'My uncle - Professor Watkins - wanted to do some secret work and Professor Travers said he could use the lab in the basement here.' The girl elbowed Jamie out of the way and adjusted one of the lamps. 'I moved in because I was kicked out of my studio last week.'
'A'm no surprised,' Jamie mumbled darkly to himself.
The Doctor tested the shutter a few times. 'What field of science does your uncle work in?' he asked.
The girl grimaced and shook her head. 'He messes about with computers all the time. Complete nutter.'
'How very fortunate,' smiled the Doctor, handing her the camera. 'Professor Watkins may be able to help us. Is he at home?'
The girl shook her head. 'Fixed it? Great. Thanks.'
'Where is your uncle?' demanded Zoe impatiently.
The girl rounded on her irritably. 'How should I know? I'm not his keeper.' Suddenly her expression changed and she peered at Zoe through the viewfinder. 'Hey... Dolly gear!' she exclaimed delightedly.
The Doctor ruffled his hair in confusion. 'Who's Dolly Gear?' he inquired.
'Want to pose for me?' the girl chattered on, pushing Zoe in front of the lamps. 'Now throw your arms up and bend at the knees... Head back a bit...'
Rather resentfully Zoe tried to do as she was bidden, while Jamie watched with a satirical grin.
'Well, miss...' the Doctor persevered.
'Isobel,' the girl replied, her motorised shutter whizzing off shots of Zoe in quick succession.
'Isobel. Do you know when your uncle will return?'
'Nope. He left about a week ago. Haven't seen him since...' Isobel replied vaguely, manoeuvering Zoe into a different pose as if she were a mannequin. 'He was raving on about some new process these people wanted him to develop.'
The Doctor was restlessly tapping the two faulty circuits in his coat pocket 'Can't we get in touch with him, my dear?' he pleaded. 'It is rather urgent.'
'I tried the other day. They said he couldn't take any phone calls.'
'Who did?'
'Oh... International something,' muttered Isobel, clicking away again, as Zoe began to enjoy her new role as model.
'International Electromatix?' Jamie suggested.
Isobel ignored him. 'The number's scribbled on the wall above the phone. By the stairs.'
The Doctor heaved an enormous sigh of relief, thankful to have got sornewhere at last. With Jamie close on his heels, he hurried out.
Zoe made as if to follow them.
'Don't move,' cried Isobel, still snapping away. 'You're a natural. I don't often get the chance to photograph a real model. Too expensive.'
Flattered, Zoe lingered on. Then Isobel paused and led her over to a battered old wicker skip.
'Let's find you some different gear,' she laughed.
Jamie stared at the hieroglyphic maze of names and numbers scrawled on the wall behind the telephone while the Doctor dialled.
'Suppose this is the same organisation the truck driver was telling us about,' he whispered. 'Perhaps the Professor's been...'
The Doctor nodded grimly. Then he suddenly flinched as a harsh metallic female voice rasped in the earpiece.
'International Electromatix. State your business.'
'I wish to speak to Professor Watkins please,' requested the Doctor.
There was a brief pause.
'Party not available,' grated the voice.
'It is rather important,' continued the Doctor courteously. 'Perhaps I could leave a...'
'Party not available... Party not available...'
'Oh, fiddlesticks!' hissed the Doctor, slamming down the receiver. 'It's the curse of the Technological Age, Jamie. A robot answering machine.'
'I don't think you'll get any joy!' Isobel yelled from the other room.
Jamie sent a murderous look down the hall. 'What now, Doctor?' he asked dejectedly.
The Doctor rubbed his hands together expectantly. 'Nothing for it, Jamie. We'll have to pay International Electromatix a little visit.'
Returning to the makeshift studio, they found Zoe decked out in long curving eyelashes and a fluffy feather boa posing extravagantly in the glaring lights.
Jamie burst out laughing. 'Och, lassie, ye look like a wee chicken wi' all those feathers,' he roared.
Zoe took no notice. 'Any luck, Doctor?' she asked hopefully.
The Doctor shook his head. 'We shall have to go there in person I'm afraid, my dear.'
Zoe wrinkled her nose uninterestedly. 'I think I'll stay here,' she said, twirling the boa seductively in the Doc
tor's face. 'This is jolly good fun.'
The Doctor nodded in reluctant agreement and asked Isobel if she knew the address of International Electromatix.
'Oh, that's scribbled up on the wall somewhere too,' she giggled.
'Och, don't ye ever write anything down on paper?' Jamie exclaimed as the Doctor shuffled out.
'I'd only lose it if I did. The wall's safer,' Isobel explained. 'Can't lose a wall, can you!'
The two girls howled in mutual appreciation of the joke. Glowering humourlessly, Jamie trudged out after the Doctor.
The headquarters of International Electromatix turned out to be a tall slim tower of steel and glass surrounded by lower buildings, all faced with identical rows of reflective coppertint windows, situated in the City. Jamie and the Doctor paused to examine the huge bronze plaque above the entrance, with its symbolic zig-zag spark gripped in a giant fist, before marching resolutely through the automatic glass doors and into the deserted circular foyer.
Unknown to them, two men crouched on the flat roof of an anonymous office block opposite were observing them intently - one through powerful binoculars, the other through the viewfinder of a polaroid camera. They wore drab suits with narrow dark ties and both had short military haircuts. The larger man with the binoculars spoke tersely into a compact walkie-talkie.
'They're just going inside now... Tracey's getting them on film.'
The smaller man ripped the film out of the camera and hugged it under his arm to speed up the developing process.
The big man listened to his radio. 'Roger, sir. Benton out,' he said, switching off. Ducking below the parapet he crawled across to Tracey and examined the photograph. 'HQ want those two Top Priority,' he said. 'We pick them up as soon as they come out.'
Tracey uttered a curt laugh. 'If they come out,' he grunted.
The Doctor glanced contemptuously at the plastic chairs arranged facing a semicircle of small computer terminals in the middle of the glass foyer. 'I suppose this is Reception,' he muttered distastefully, sitting in front of a terminal which had lit up expectantly as they entered.
'International Electromatix. State your business,' rapped the machine.
'I wish to see Professor Watkins,' stated the Doctor.
'One moment...'
Behind a perspex screen above the terminals, tape spools jerked spasmodically back and forth.
'Party not available. Good day,' the machine announced at last.
The Doctor squirmed with suppressed indignation. 'Then I wish to see someone in authority,' he retorted.
'Key in identity. Request will be considered and appointment arranged.'
'That's no good,' insisted the Doctor, 'I wish to see someone now.'
'All personnel engaged.'
The Doctor's normally sallow features flushed with outrage. 'I insist,' he shouted. 'This is an emergency.'
'Inform exact nature of emergency,' instructed the mechanical receptionist, its spools spinning busily.
'It is a personal matter.'
There was a brief pause. 'Personal matters merit no emergency status,' the grating voice announced. 'Key in identity and...'
The Doctor's nimble fingers played a frenzied sequence of random keys on the keyboard. 'There. Work that out!' he snapped, leaping out of the chair. He strode over to the gleaming chromium-plated doors leading into the building itself and Jamie scampered nervously after him.
High above them in the penthouse suite of offices at the top of the tower, two men stood in a spacious clinical room watching the two intruders on a bank of circular closed-circuit video monitors. The combination of swept-back silver hair and thick black eyebrows gave the older man a disturbing appearance. His right eye was permanently half-closed, but his left gazed wide open with chilling pale blue iris and huge black pupil. His clothes were coldly elegant: a plain suit with collarless jacket, round-necked shirt and gleaming black shoes with chrome buckles. Head tilted slightly back, he watched the multiple images of the Doctor and Jamie as if they were specimens under a microscope.
'Do you recognise them, Packer?' he murmured in a leisurely cultured voice.
Packer, dressed in black security personnel outfit minus the helmet and visor, shook his head. 'No, Mr Vaughn.' His small black eyes gleamed with sadistic alertness, but his pale waxy face tapered to a weak receding jaw. His voice was thin and devious.
Vaughn sat down in a large padded swivel chair facing the vast semicircular chrome desk. Behind him the grey panorama of London stretched beyond the wide curving window through half-open vertical louvres. Reaching forward, he selected new pictures as Jamie and the Doctor walked down a long starkly-lit corridor, peering suspiciously around them. 'Most intriguing,' Vaughn murmured calmly, reclining his chair and staring impassively at the bank of monitors on the wall opposite. 'Deal with them, Packer.'
The Doctor was cautiously leading the way along the silent deserted corridor when, all at once, a glass wall slid across their path. Before they could even turn round a second panel glided across behind them, trapping them like fish in an aquarium. A sinister hissing issued from narrow vents near the ceiling and within a few seconds the Doctor and Jamie were overcome by a soporific gas. They sank to the floor, their fingers squeaking eerily against the glass barrier.
A few minutes later, Packer arrived accompanied by two armed subordinates. He inserted a special key into the wall and the glass shutters silently withdrew. With cold detachment Packer turned Jamie's motionless body over with his steel toecapped boot. Suddenly Jamie grabbed Packer's foot and twisted it viciously sideways. Yelping with pain and shock, Packer pitched spreadeagled on the floor. But before the dazed young Scot could follow up his attack, the two guards each grabbed an ear and yanked Jamie to his knees.
Packer struggled to his feet and gazed down at Jamie, beads of sweat breaking out all over his waxy white face. 'Wait!' he whined, balancing himself to kick his assailant in the face. 'This is going to be a pleasure...'
At that moment, Vaughn's velvet tones filled the corridor from concealed speakers. 'Packer, where are your manners? Escort our visitors to my office immediately.'
Packer froze, like a child caught stealing sweets. 'But I haven't interrogated them yet,' he pleaded, as the Doctor stirred and sat up groggily.
At once, Packer,' Vaughn purred insistently.
Jamie helped the Doctor up, staring at Packer with defiant contempt as he dutifully motioned to the guards to take them up to his master.
2
Old Friends
Vaughn rose to greet the Doctor and Jamie as they were shown into his penthouse office. 'Please be seated, gentlemen,' he beamed courteously. 'Thank you, Packer,' he added coldly. His deputy lingered on the threshold until a dismissive gesture finally sent him resentfully outside.
The Doctor's keen eye quickly took in the artificial potted plants, the self-adjusting suspended light fittings and the comprehensive array of facilities ranged at Vaughn's fingertips. 'I knew there must be a human being in here somewhere,' he grinned, sitting down.
Vaughn bowed. 'I apologise for my staff's over-zealous behaviour but your arrival was a trifle unconventional.'
Jamie's hackles rose. 'Maybe, but there was no need to...'
The Doctor interrupted tactfully. 'I think perhaps we are the ones who should apologise, Mister...'
'Vaughn... Tobias Vaughn... Director of International Electromatix. I must say your business with Professor Watkins must be very urgent to force you to such extremes.'
Jamie sat up in astonishment. 'Hey, how did ye ken we were wanting the Professor?'
Vaughn gestured with well manicured hands towards his enormous desk. 'My computer reports everything directly to me,' he smiled.
'Everything?' the Doctor echoed innocently.
Vaughn nodded. 'But I regret that your visit has been wasted. Professor Watkins is engaged on a new project and he refuses to see anyone,' he said sadly.
The Doctor looked crestfallen.
'Perhaps I can help?
' Vaughn suggested brightly.
Jamie nudged his silent friend. 'Och, it's only a couple of dud circuits, Doctor, surely a place like this could...' He trailed into silence as the Doctor glanced at him warningly.
Vaughn leaned forward eagerly. 'Circuits? Electronics?' he purred. 'My technicians are the best in the world. I am sure they could assist you, gentlemen.'
The Doctor shook his head. 'Thank you, Mr Vaughn, but the circuits are... are most complex.'
Vaughn gestured expansively. 'Complexity is our speciality,' he insisted, holding out his hands. 'At least let us try.'
The Doctor hesitated, glancing reproachfully at Jamie. Eventually he reluctantly handed over the two small panels he had removed from the TARDIS earlier. Vaughn seized them eagerly and examined them, his left eye narrowing to match the right. The Doctor noted the momentary shadow of astonishment that passed over his face.
But Vaughn swiftly recovered his composure. 'As you say, a trifle complex. But I am convinced we can help. I'll have them sent to our Diagnostic Unit at once,' he proposed generously.
The Doctor smiled weakly. 'You're extremely kind,' he muttered.
'Not at all. Any friend of Professor Watkins...' Vaughn paused, as though he were disturbed by the two silicon panels in front of him. Quickly he opened a drawer, took out a tiny miniaturised radio and offered it to Jamie. 'Do you have one of these, young man?' he asked.
Jamie looked blank. 'Och no, sir. What is it?'
Vaughn looked surprised. 'Disposable transistor radios. A market leader. Surely you've seen them? We've sold ten million in the UK alone. Modest compensation for Packer's excesses, I trust?'
'Most generous,' said the Doctor, prompting Jamie to accept.
Jamie took the radio and fiddled with it. Suddenly a raucous pop tune blared forth. 'So that's how it goes!' he grinned.
Wincing at the din, the Doctor leaned across and switched it off. 'And that's how it stops, Jamie,' he advised firmly.
Vaughn rose regretfully. 'If you'll excuse me I have an urgent meeting,' he declared. 'Mr Packer will show you out.'
