Part 11 (1/2)

'No! No! You can't do this to me! You need me! I know the ways of these primitives! I can still be useful! Wait! Wait!'

Then he was no more, subsumed into the triumvirate. They pulsed with the extra energy, then resumed their delicate patterns of hovering.

'A mistake.'

'Deleted.'

'Our plans.'

'Advanced.'

'Success.'

'Inevitable.'

The triumvirate nodded in agreement.

In the TARDIS, the Doctor had been busy las.h.i.+ng together a handheld device from circuits and wiring plundered from the central console. He was running a test on the prototype when the ambient light began to dim in the control room.

Some kind of energy drain. What could be causing that, he wondered. Several of the indicator needles on display dials in the central console were flickering wildly between zero and off the scale. The Doctor ran from panel to panel, trying to absorb all that was happening. According to the TARDIS instruments, someone had just operated a matter transmission system. It could only be the Xhinn!

Suddenly the room was ablaze with light for a second, before slowly returning to its normal level. The Doctor stood, scratching his head. A ma.s.sive energy surge, which was then slowly reabsorbed, he decided.

He examined the handheld device. The Xhinn vessel must be nearby. He began to adjust the circuits. If he could re-route the wiring, he might be able to turn it into a homing device. But the apparatus did not respond. The display winked once, then died away. The Doctor looked at it despairingly. The energy surge must have overloaded the circuits.

Outside the TARDIS, a police patrol car was parked in Whitecross Street, near the intersection with Old Street. Sergeant Diggle clambered out from the vehicle, his ample belly struggling to free itself from behind the steering wheel. His wife was always complaining about having to adjust his uniform to allow s.p.a.ce for his ever widening waistline. Was it Diggle's fault that he had a weakness for jellied eels and mash?

The police sergeant checked his wrist watch. It was nearly two o'clock. The sun would not be setting for another two hours, but already he could feel the night drawing in. Diggle hated these long winter nights. If he didn't get outside during his lunch break, he never saw the sun at all. It was dark when he arrived at the station and dark again by the time he left for home.

Like living in a tunnel, he thought bleakly. Oh well, better go see what young Hodge is fussing about. Then he could get back to the station before the s.h.i.+ft ended.

The sergeant strolled around the corner into Old Street.

Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, and yet there was something strange here, Diggle decided. But he couldn't put his finger on it. At last, realisation struck home. Where was everybody? The street was deserted. No cars or lorries moving in any direction, and no pedestrians on the street.

A glint of metal caught his eye. Diggle walked over to the gutter where a knife had been dropped. A drop of blood was visible on the blade. The sergeant dipped his finger into the redness. It was still tacky, like discarded paint. Probably two or three hours since this blood was spilled, which would partially confirm Hodge's wild story. There had been an altercation outside St Luke's Church and somebody was hurt, probably stabbed. But Diggle could find no evidence of floating monsters or ma.s.s murder.

He looked up and down the street. Just in the few minutes he had been here the far reaches of the long, straight road had disappeared, swallowed up by a gathering fog. Looks like the city was in for a real pea-souper, Diggle thought. He fancied a nice bowl of pea soup right now, perhaps with some tinned ham chopped into cubes and dropped into the swirling liquid.

The police sergeant knew there was little point in asking local residents if they had witnessed anything. For a start, people knew better than to discuss Ramsey Mob business with the police. Secondly, they would probably think him mad if he started asking them about blue death rays. They'd probably be right, too. But Diggle did know one place he could be sure of getting a straight answer. He walked up the stone steps and opened the door into St Luke's Church.

Father Simmons was lying face down on the steps of the altar, his arms extended out sideways in a crucifix position. He prayed fervently, his eyes clenched shut, his lips mouthing the words of his mental supplication.

'My Saviour, why have you forsaken me? I have done your bidding, I have worked to extend your ministry, to bring your ways to the people of this parish. Is this not enough? Why do you send these fallen angels to test me? Saviour, give me a sign that I may better do your will...'

Sergeant Diggle cleared his throat to get the priest's attention. Simmons rose to a kneeling position, made the sign of the cross and then stood up. He genuflected to the altar before turning to face the policeman.

'Yes, my son?'

Diggle smiled nervously. He had never been a religious man, preferring to put his faith in things he could see, touch and taste.

He pointed at a pew. 'Can we sit down? I have to ask you a few questions.'

'Of course.' The priest took a seat next to the police sergeant. 'Now, how can I help you?'

'We've received reports about a disturbance outside this church at noon today. Have you seen anything?'

Father Simmons grabbed the policeman by the arm. 'Yes! I had been wondering whether I should report it. I was praying to the Saviour, asking for guidance when you came in. Your appearance is obviously a sign!'

'Well, I wouldn't go that far,' Diggle replied. He carefully removed his arm from the priest's grip, while taking a notebook and pencil from his breast pocket. Diggle licked the end of his pencil and got ready to take notes. 'If you could just tell me what you saw...'

'It was an angel a fallen angel,' Simmons said.

Diggle began writing. 'An angel...' He stopped. 'Sorry?'

'Yes, it was a fallen angel. The Doctor said so.'

'The Doctor. Who is he?'

'He has the watchmender's shop across the road. Or, at least, he did before that fire yesterday. You should investigate that most suspicious, it seemed to me.'

Diggle refused to be distracted. 'Father, you were talking about an angel.'

The priest described what had happened outside, with particular emphasis on the vengeful angel which came down to Earth and smote the unrepentant criminals. But it had spared his life, obviously recognising Simmons as a faithful servant of the Saviour.

Sergeant Diggle listened through all of this, not bothering to take notes. If Hodge's story had seemed like the rantings of a broken mind, the priest was giving the lad a good run for his money. Diggle nodded politely as Simmons tried to impress upon him the need for vigilance in the days ahead. There could be more angels and only the pure of heart would survive their fiery judgement, full of divine wrath and fury.

'Right,' Diggle replied, snapping his notebook shut and returning it to his pocket, along with the unused pencil. 'I'll be sure to tell the rest of the lads at the station about that.' He stood up and shook the priest's hand. 'Thank you for your time, Father. I'll let you get back to your, err, prayers.'

'No need,' Simmons said, his face at peace. 'You arrived in response to my pleas. Now I have given you this message, I need not fear the future. All will be well, as long as we believe.'

The police sergeant just nodded politely and left. Once outside, he shook his head in bewilderment. 'If that nutter's got a direct line to G.o.d, then I'm the next Chief Constable!' Diggle made his way back to the patrol car. In the short time he had been inside the church, the fog had drawn in even closer. It soon would become difficult to drive if visibility continued to shrink.

The police sergeant determined to get back to the station in good time.

Something had definitely happened on Old Street but exactly what was another matter. The only two witnesses had given such wildly varying accounts as to cancel each other out. Diggle decided to forget the whole thing. Unless somebody else came forward with a sensible statement, this incident was not going to be officially recorded.

Tommy watched his lieutenants arguing. Jack suggested caution in the face of this fresh enemy. They didn't know what this creature was capable of, but it had eradicated nearly two dozen men. Best to stay back, let others fight this monster. Once the conflict was over, the Ramsey Mob could step in and pick from the spoils.

Billy Valance was terrified. He had escaped one of the death blasts by mere inches and just wanted to get out of London.

Who knows how many of these creatures are in the city, pretending to be something they're not? How could anyone be trusted anymore?