Part 18 (1/2)

And then what? That he'd been disarmed by a trio of Apache braves, off the reservation and equipped with rifles? Where was the evidence? He had his gun back in his holster and he'd checked it. It was fully loaded and in 115operational order. It had been carefully replaced in his holster before he'd been found this morning, disgracefully drunk and asleep in a jeep. He'd stunk of mescal and puke and his pants had been soaked with his own urine.

Butcher winced even to remember it. The word would be spreading around the base even now. He expected to receive a summons from General Groves at any moment, to be reprimanded and possibly even relieved of his duties.

And what could he tell them? That the Doctor had somehow arranged it all?

That Butcher had been doped and had the alcohol forced on him? By three armed Indians who had conveniently vanished into the night? No one would believe that. They'd laugh. He'd laugh himself, if he heard the same claim from someone else. No, he couldn't tell them what happened. He couldn't accuse the Doctor of slipping him a mickey and making him see monsters.

And with no accusations there could be no charges brought.

So, the Doctor would have to wait.

'All right,' he told Oppy. 'I'll look into this matter with Morita.'

'We have to get him back,' said Oppenheimer. 'He's crucial to the whole project. We can't afford to lose one of our best minds so close to Trinity.'

'We haven't lost him,' said Butcher. 'Not if I have anything to say in the matter.' He glanced back at the school, then reluctantly turned away and set off to contact the MP post and find out if anyone had seen Morita leave.

Oppy continued into the ranch school and went around the cla.s.srooms asking if any of the physicists had any idea where Ray Morita might be. After he'd spoken to the Doctor and Ace, and left them alone, Ace turned to the Doctor and said, 'He seems pretty upset.'

The Doctor nodded. He was standing holding a piece of chalk, studying his equations on the blackboard. 'Not surprising. As he said, Ray is a key member of the team and crucial to the project. More importantly though, if he's gone missing the immediate suspicion is that he might be a spy. That he might have been spying on the project all along, and that he's gone to report to his masters.'

'So there's going to be a real stink about him vanis.h.i.+ng?'

'As you say, a real stink.'

'So why didn't we just bring him back with us in the TARDIS? We could have avoided all this.'

The Doctor smiled at her. 'Think, Ace. We could have done what you said.

But think about the consequences.'

Ace frowned, considering. She took off her sungla.s.ses and rubbed at the bruise on her cheekbone. 'Let's see. If we'd brought Ray back from LA with us, then he would have arrived here when we did, just after he left, and n.o.body would have ever known that he'd vanished.'

'And. . . ?'

116.'And that means there wouldn't have been a stink, which is kind of my point.'

'And. . . ?'

'And Major Bulldog Butcher wouldn't have gone off searching for him.' Ace suddenly fell silent. 'Oh.' She put her sungla.s.ses back on.

'Indeed,' said the Doctor. 'Oh.'

'I see what you mean now. If Butcher hadn't gone off after him. . . '

'Yes,' said the Doctor. 'The consequences don't really bear thinking about.'

He set down his piece of chalk and came over and sat beside Ace. 'By the way, I've been meaning to ask. What's that you're holding in your hand? You covered it up as soon as Butcher stepped in and again when Oppy appeared.'

Ace opened her fist. She was holding a piece of paper inside it. The Doctor glanced down and said, 'Ah yes. That could have been a bit tricky to explain.

I suggest you get rid of it right now, while we think about it, so that there's no danger of it coming to the attention of Butcher later on.'

'What should I do with it?' Ace's voice was weary. Her eyes were invisible behind the dark lenses of her sungla.s.ses.

'Burn it,' said the Doctor, handing her a box of matches. Ace took them and used them to burn the paper in one of the many ashtrays available in the cla.s.sroom. It curled and vanished in the flames, ceasing to be recognisable as a train ticket.

'All tickets for Los Angeles, please. All tickets for Los Angeles.' The inspector moved slowly down the length of the observation car. The car had a kind of giant gla.s.s bubble on top that allowed the pa.s.sengers to peer out at the pa.s.sing landscape. Smoking was permitted here; encouraged even, by the presence of an ashtray for every armchair-like leather seat. The chrome ashtrays stood on graceful stems, like miniature tables, and had clamsh.e.l.l lids, which at least sealed off the stink of the smouldering b.u.t.ts and old ash inside. And at this time of day, in the late morning, the place was spa.r.s.ely occupied. Ace had found that she liked the observation bubble. It reminded her in an odd way of the c.o.c.kpit in Zorg's s.h.i.+p, though of course this one was much larger and was on the top of the vehicle.

The train rattled along in a dreamy rhythmic sweep through the landscape of the American west. 'Tickets for Los Angeles,' repeated the inspector as he worked his way along the observation car. He was a tiny, pale old man with a seamed face, wearing a black cap and a black uniform with bra.s.s b.u.t.tons.

He smiled at Ace as he took her ticket, his face sprouting new networks of wrinkles. 'We got ourselves some big names on the train today, miss.'

'I beg your pardon?'

'You English, miss?'

117.'That's right,' said Ace, truthfully enough. 'From London.'

'Terrible things those n.a.z.is did to that city of yours. The bombing. Still they got theirs now. Berlin looks a heck of a lot worse than London ever did. Ha ha ha. Thanks to our boys.' Then he added hastily, 'And your boys too of course.'

He squinted at her ticket. 'Going to Los Angeles on holiday?' He p.r.o.nounced it Loss Ang-galeez.

'I've got some work to do there.'

'Well you sure picked a swell train to take you to the city. Like I was saying, some big names on board. We've got the entire Duke Ellington band here with us!' He leaned forward and spoke in a lower voice. 'They're all coloured fellows of course.'

'Of course,' said Ace.

'So naturally they've got their own Pullman car.'

'Naturally,' said Ace.

'Big names in music,' confided the man, finally punching her ticket and handing it back to her. Ace felt a warm sense of relief. She'd a.s.sumed that the tickets the Doctor had got for them were legit but you could never be sure, and the last thing she wanted was to end up under arrest here in California in 1945 for fare dodging. It was probably a hanging offence. Or did they use the electric chair in California? 'I used to be quite a fan myself,' said the ticket inspector. '”East St Louis Toodle-Oo” and ”Creole Love Call”. But not of their new stuff. The modern stuff. It's just noise noise. The kind of noise the jitterbugs go for. You're not a jitterbug, are you miss?'

'I certainly hope not.'

The ticket inspector chuckled. 'Of course you're not.' He moved on down the observation car. Ace waited a polite minute or two before getting up, so it wouldn't look like he'd driven her off, though in a way he had. In any case, it was time to rendezvous with the Doctor.

Their pre-established rendezvous point was the baggage compartment of the train, where the TARDIS had materialised when it had brought them here.

Ace had followed the Doctor out of the blue police box carrying a huge roll of brown paper, some adhesive tape and a fat black pen. The hasty application of these materials had succeeded in making the TARDIS look convincingly like a large package of some kind a very large package complete with destination address and admonitions to handle with care.

Now Ace moved through the cluttered compartment to the tall brown parcel and stood in front of it. She tapped her toes and checked her watch. Either she was on time and the Doctor was late or she was running a little fast. Most likely the Doctor was late. She sat down on top of a large wicker hamper and had just begun to reflect on the irony of an unpunctual time traveller when the door at the far end of the compartment opened and the Doctor came bustling 118in. 'Sorry to keep you waiting, but it took rather longer than I expected to do my reconnaissance.'

'They're in their own Pullman carriage,' said Ace.

'I beg your pardon?' said the Doctor.

Ace sat there on the hamper, swinging her legs and feeling smug. 'The ticket collector told me that the Duke Ellington band is on this train. And that they're in their own special carriage. Because they're coloured blokes, don't you know.'