Part 16 (2/2)

'h.e.l.lo K9, I need a telephone number.'

'Yes, mistress. I have one hundred and ninety-six thousand, seven hundred and thirty-nine numbers available.'

'Oh, good. It's the Brigadier's number. Brigadier Alastair Lethbridge-Stewart. His home number. He's teaching at a school somewhere, but I can't remember which one.'

'Checking files.' There was a whirring noise, which meant that K9 Mark III's electronic ears were waggling. Sarah glanced out of her window. The campus was suddenly deserted, but the alarms continued.

A signboard she had only just noticed pointed the way to the Charles Bryce Memorial Gallery. Her heart always sank when she saw Charlie's name. The circ.u.mstances of his death had been hushed up, but people whispered. Even so, to see his name here was so much at odds with the coldness of the place.

To Sarah, he was always laughing, even if at times that laughter was desperate. Why was it always the least deserving and most alive who were carried off? Her hand reached for the ignition.

'No number available, mistress.'

Sarah smacked her hand on the steering-wheel in frustration. 'K9, are you logged into the Internet?'

'Affirmative, mistress.'

'Could you access ex-directory numbers?'

Another brief pause. 'Affirmative, mistress. Number located. School House at Brendon College in Hertfords.h.i.+re.'

'Oh K9, you're a retriever in a million. Can you put me through?'

'Affir..' The line whooshed as if the wavelength was changing. Music began to pump in. Sarah recognized the mindnumbing beat immediately.

' You're listening to New World FM. Your daily curriculum You're listening to New World FM. Your daily curriculum of fun and food for thought. of fun and food for thought. ' '

Sarah started to shake the phone. 'K9? K9, are you still there?' The beat was mingled with hissing and burbling through which she could hear her faithful computerized hound calling for her. 'Mistress? Mistress? Please respond.'

' This is the station that beats time. A New World coming This is the station that beats time. A New World coming soon. soon. ' '

'Mistress..

' New World has the solution. New World has the solution. ' '

The two voices were becoming interchangeable. K9 was fading. Sarah found herself incapable of tearing the phone from her ear. The beat was losing all its ba.s.s and accompanying jangle, paring down to a single repeating high note that began jabbing into Sarah's thoughts. She felt sick and gasped for breath. Her shaking hand grabbed out, knocking the contents of her case over the car floor.

There was another whoosh and the line cleared again.

'Mistress? Mistress?' she heard K9 saying.

'K9. Thank heavens.' Her heart was racing. She wound down the window and took a deep gulp of air. The alarms on the campus had stopped.

'Interference on line dispersed, mistress.'

'Don't get me that number yet,' she said. 'I want to get out of here first.'

'Number already ringing.'

She heard the line trilling and glanced warily round. The area was still deserted.

'School House, Brendon,' barked a familiar voice. 'Who is this?'

'h.e.l.lo? Brigadier? This is Sarah Jane Smith.'

'Good Lord. Miss Smith?'

Her mouth had dried. She gulped at the air again and said urgently, 'Yes. Look, just please listen. You could be in danger. I'm at the New World University.'

A grating blare of tone cut across the line.

'h.e.l.lo? Brigadier?' There was no answer. A shadow fell across the side window. A Chilly was staring intently in from only a foot away. She heard the tinny beat from his headphones.

She grabbed for the key and turned the ignition. The engine fired into instant life. She put her foot down, took the corner far too fast and sped out of New World on scorched and screeching tyres.

'h.e.l.lo? h.e.l.lo? Miss Smith?'

The voice cut out into the gloom of the silent office. Blinds had been drawn across the windows. The hard light from the monitor turned Victoria into a statue, silver reflecting as her unblinking eyes returned the stare.

'Miss Smith? Sarah? Are you there?'

A strand of web from the shrouded monitor drifted across her face.

'We have him,' she whispered, her voice as cold as s.p.a.ce.

11.

Neighbourhood Watch e ignored the ringing of the doorbell. He was about to get Hinto the bath when it started, closely followed by a rapping at one of the downstairs windows.

'Brigadier,' called the letterbox, which had a redoubtable female voice. 'Brigadier? Try to call out if you can't move.'

No blasted peace for the wicked! He pulled on his well-worn dressing gown and stumped downstairs. The headmaster's secretary, known as Twickers by the boys, was standing agog on the front doorstep surrounded by milk bottles.

'Celia,' said the Brigadier flatly, his usual charm wearing even thinner than his dressing gown. 'What can I do for you?'

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