Part 12 (1/2)

'Does that mean I'm dead?'

'Don't ask that too loudly. I'm waiting here for somebody particular. I don't have to deal with you. Do you know what a respiratory by-pa.s.s system is?'

'No.'

'That's all right then. You've just got one.'

Tim woke up and reached for his neck. He pulled the collar of his pyjamas aside and found the red marks where the rope had bitten him.

'I'm alive!' he gasped. Then the gasp became a shout. 'I'm alive!'

Phipps was the first one to wake, smothering a scream with his bedclothes when he saw Timothy sitting up in bed.

The others ignited their bedside lamps, and, seeing the miracle that had occurred, ran to surround the boy again. 'But you were dead!' Merryweather cried. 'You'd stopped breathing, there was no pulse!'

'I died,' Timothy told him. 'And then I came back.'

Hutchinson pushed his way through the crowd and glared at Timothy. Timothy met his gaze evenly.

After a moment, the Captain turned away. 'As I said,' he murmured. 'A lot of fuss about nothing. Don't forget it's OTC tomorrow, Dean. Make a man of you.'

The others hesitantly followed Hutchinson's example and returned to their beds, many of them still staring at Timothy as they did so.

After the lights had all been extinguished again, Tim flexed his fingers experimentally, staring at his young hands. 'Too late...' he whispered.

Serif opened his eyes. 'I don't believe it!' he whispered. He was in a tiny, white-brick cell, with a solid metal door. One small barred window looked out on the darkness. The only light was that which washed under the door. On the floor in front of him sat a tray with some bread and cheese on it.

He jumped to his feet and hammered on the door. After a few minutes, a tiny slat at eye-level slid open. 'Oi,' said a voice. 'Be qui-et. Silencio. Get my meaning? You'll wake the other prisoners.'

'You - ' Serif rammed his hand at the little gap, but the slat slammed shut again before he could touch whoever was outside.

It was inconceivable, but somehow the ex-Time Lord had outsmarted him. He turned back to the interior of the cell and paced up and down, considering his options. He didn't carry any of the extravagant weaponry that the others favoured.

If they'd only given him some meat...

Serif finally came to a bitter conclusion. He concentrated for a moment, then pulled off one of his gloves.

He put the revealed chalk-white hand up to the window and concentrated again. It took an hour, but, finally, Serif was convinced that he'd released the correct molecular messages into the air. Directing them would take longer still.

He just hoped that Greeneye wouldn't smirk about it.

Sergeant Abelard carefully closed the part.i.tion and wandered back behind the desk of the small police station.

'You've been back and forth to that door all night, Sarge,' said Constable Bickerston. 'And you've been on the go all day. Shouldn't you be getting home?'

'No, Alfie, I'm not a happy halibut. Army lads'll be through here any time now. I want to know what's going on. We might be at war tomorrow.'

'War?' Bickerston looked up from his newspaper. 'What, you reckon it was the Germans did that to the hospital today?'

'Germans, perhaps. Austrians or Russians, more likely. You didn't see what that gas did, Alfie. Most of the patients and staff in one of the wards just vanished, melted like they were made of chocolate on a hot day. But it was the ones at the edges that had the worst of it. There were bits and pieces of them everywhere. I've persuaded Geoffrey down at the newspaper not to mention it tomorrow, not until we can find all the relatives. But there'll be no holding him if the news gets out to London. What with that, that business at the pub and our anarchist down in the cells...'

'You reckon they're all connected?'

'Well, I'll be d.a.m.ned if it's a coincidence, a gas bomb, a violent robbery and an a.s.sault on the same day. That, what, triples the crime rate for April in one go? No, I think we've got our man, but it'll be down to the Army how they treat him. I hope they - oh, h.e.l.lo, miss, what can we... do for you?'

A nurse had wandered into the police station, carrying a red balloon. Abelard and the constable exchanged glances.

'Excuse me, officers,' the nurse began, 'but I was wondering if you might have chanced upon a friend of mine. He's a tall, rather sinister gentleman, in a large hat.'

'Are you a relative, miss?' asked Abelard.

'Why, yes, I'm his daughter.'

'Come now, miss, you can't expect us to swallow that.'

The nurse laughed and her voice changed. 'You said something funny. I'm tired of talking in that stupid way, so I'm going to talk like me now, all right?'

'That's absolutely fine, miss. Would you care to sit down for a while? Perhaps we could have a little chat.' Abelard opened the part.i.tion and showed the nurse towards the row of chairs that ran along the edge of the room. 'Now, were you in the hospital this afternoon when... when something awful happened?'

'Yes!' The nurse hopped up and down, smiling at him. 'I was because I did it!'

'Did you really, miss?' Abelard reached for his notebook, suddenly wondering if he ought to put in a call to the constables from Berridge, who were still helping to clear up at the hospital. No, this girl was obviously round the bend. 'What was it that you did, then, exactly?'

The nurse let go of her balloon, which floated up to the ceiling, and unb.u.t.toned her cuff. She showed Abelard her wrist. 'Watch! Nothing up my sleeve, just like a real magician. And now... ta-dah!'

The inside of her wrist split open like a piece of meat on a butcher's rack. There was no blood, just a black capsule that plopped neatly out into her hand. The wrist swept shut again.

Abelard stepped back, astonished. 'How - '

'Now, here's the clever part...' The nurse began to unscrew the cap on the capsule.

'Sarge!' shouted Bickerston. 'That's the gas, it must be! Stop her!'

Abelard dived forward and wrenched the black capsule out of the nurse's grip. He stared at it for a moment. She glared at him, her hands on her hips. 'Oh!'

'For goodness' sake, hurry up, can't you, Aphasia?' August wandered in and shot Abelard through the head.

As the body slid down the wall, he turned his gun towards Bickerston, but the constable had already dived under the counter, grabbing the telephone as he went.

'Balloon,' Aphasia sighed, recovering her gas capsule from the b.l.o.o.d.y wreck on the wall. 'Behind the desk.'

The balloon swept down from the ceiling and dropped below desk level, from where the sounds of frantic dialling issued.

'Hoff's back at the dome,' August told Aphasia. 'Have you seen Greeneye?'

'No, but I got a message from him.' The dialling had stopped, the receiver slammed back down again, and now the sound was a violent thras.h.i.+ng and m.u.f.fled shouting.

'Did he say where he was?'

'No, but he said he had a new plan.' The sounds from behind the desk grew quiet, and then stopped. The balloon floated back to Aphasia's grasp.