Post by Fitz Kreiner on Mar 30, 2009 15:26:33 GMT
“You see, Doctor,” Morris said, turning in the passenger seat to look into the back of the car. “We scouted the factory first and thoroughly investigated it. Everything Lemaitre said was what we uncovered ourselves. Like I said; we’re not amateurs.”
“Yes, you seemed to have done some research. I could imagine that Monsieur Lemaitre could have done the same.” The Doctor replied.
“But what you’ve told me of this Master, Lemaitre is far too young to be him.” Morris protested.
“He also didn’t give out any of the usual telepathic traces that a Time Lord would.” The Doctor agreed turning to Tom. “What did you find?”
“Nothing out of the usual.” Tom shrugged. “I looked for everything you told me to look for, and saw none of it. Met a chap called Bernard Rogers, that secretary’s uncle; he seemed a nice old chap.”
“And did you try as I suggested?”
Tom nodded. “Tried all the mental tricks you showed me, and got nothing, anywhere in the factory. All the stuff was normal, I checked their products. The dummies make up very little of their production, I checked, they’re metal and plastic, like crash test dummies. I’m beginning to think this was just a coincidence.”
“I still don’t know,” the Doctor said. “It could still all be hidden somewhere there.”
“Look, even if they are up to something, we’ll know about it.” Morris added swiftly, causing the Doctor and Tom to look at him sharply. “I suppose I’d better tell you; I’ve arranged for some agents to be placed at the local factories through security companies, which is why we won’t have the manpower to commence raids.”
“What do you mean?” Tom asked.
“I’ve arranged for one man to be placed under cover as security for each of the factories in the local area tonight. One of the regular team for each factory is going to be replaced so my men can keep an eye out. If there is going to be any clandestine activities, I doubt it’d happen during the day.” Morris explained.
“And when were you planning on telling me this?” The Doctor asked looking at Morris.
“I didn’t want to compromise the operation.” Morris admitted shifting uncomfortably in the passenger seat.
“Will, Will, Will, Will, Will,” the Doctor sighed shaking his head. “If you expect us to have a proper working relationship, and want me to work with you in the first place, you need to tell me these things. Fortunately it’s nothing too serious; you used a good bit of initiative there, well done. But from now on, you must let me know of all these things.”
Morris looked from the Doctor to Tom, unsure of how to react to the Doctors comments. He wasn’t sure whether the Time Lord was being sarcastic or not. He certainly hoped he wasn’t. Glancing back at the Time Lord, he saw he was sitting back in the seat, a worried look over his face. Morris glanced back at Tom, to see the young man shrug at him before putting his finger to his lips and indicating the Doctor with his head.
Nodding, Morris took the message; the Doctor had withdrawn into himself for a think. Most probably about the results that they had, or more likely hadn’t, got at Lemaitre’s factory. Turning back to face the front, he glanced across at Baxter, the driver, who was silently concentrating on the road. Suddenly feeling uncomfortable in the silent car, Morris glanced in the rear view mirror; Tom was staring out of the window, seemingly bored and the Doctor still seemed deep in thought. Reaching forwards, Morris grabbed the radio off the dashboard.
“Greyhound one to trap seven.” He said, repeating the call sign before static crackled through the speakers and a Sergeant Lovatt’s voice replied.
“Trap seven receiving Greyhound. Go ahead.”
“What’s the status on operation Trojan Horse?” He asked winding up the window as the car slowed as it entered traffic.
“All Myrmidons are in the horses, awaiting nightfall.” Lovatt’s tinny voice replied.
Scratching at his receding hair line, Morris raised the radio to his lips again. “Nightfall has come. Greyhound one out.” He said.
“Nightfall? Myrmidon?” Tom’s voice asked from the back seat. “Sounds like one of the bands Jess listens to.”
“Greek mythology.” The Doctor replied before Morris could answer. “Going from the title ‘Operation Trojan Horse’ being the spies in the security teams, the Myrmidons would refer to the spies and Nightfall, I would assume, be the keyword to start the operation and get the men out to the factories. After all, it was the Myrmidons who were inside the Trojan horse; and I should know, I was there.”
Morris looked dumbfounded at the Doctor, who merely smiled at him.
“Am I right, Will?” He asked.
“Spot on.” Morris managed. “Although hopefully it won’t make sense if someone was listening in. Not that that happens, but it’s best to err on the side of caution.”
The Master sat back in a high backed, leather upholstered chair in a wood panelled room. A couple of lights illuminated him in his corner as he sat reading a first edition of War and Peace, in the original Russian. A small table sat beside him, upon which sat a silver tray with a crystal decanter of the finest Napoleon brandy, from the Napoleonic Empire itself, and a glass containing some of the liquid.
Clamping the Cuban cigar he was smoking between his teeth, the Master flicked over a page and then picked up the brandy glass. Removing the cigar, he took a sip of the caramel coloured liquid before replacing the snifter glass back on the silver tray. Resting the book on his knees briefly, the Master closed his eyes and leant his head back, listening to the deep ticking of the Grandfather clock in the opposite corner, as the sound resonated round the room.
The sound of the door opening made the Master open his eyes and he looked up as Andrea Rogers entered.
“Night security will be here shortly.” She said stopping in the middle of the room and looking at him.
“Excellent,” the Master smiled.
Snapping the large book closed and placing it on the table beside the silver tray, the Master picked up a remote control. Pointing it at the far wall, he pressed a button and the wooden panels slid away, one behind the other, revealing a large collection of monitor screens, with the largest in the centre. The blue haze from the screens brightened the room considerably. Pressing another button, one of the smaller screens changed to the image of a road being driven along. The image turned as the facsimile turned and looked at Morris as he revealed his agents working in security companies around the London area.
“I wonder which our Myrmidon will be.” He purred as he got to his feet. “I trust you will be able to spot him my dear?”
“Of course,” Andrea replied turning to the Master. “I’ve made sure to keep a very close eye on the security staff.”
“Excellent,” the Master smiled again, placing his hand on Andrea’s shoulder. “I knew I could rely on you my dear.”
Smiling, Andrea walked round to the desk in the room and opened one of the drawers, removing a series of files containing personnel records. Sitting at the desk, she turned on the desk lap and started reading through the records as the Master stepped towards the screens. The sound of Toms voice asking a question filtered through.
“That Mr. Rowan fascinates me,” the Master said, raising a hand and waving a finger at the screen. “He has mental and telepathic capabilities far beyond what any human should have in this time. His abilities were almost Gallifreyan. In fact, I would go so far as to say that he is.”
Pausing, the Master raised the remote to the screens and flicked through one of them until a picture of Tom filled the screen, a still taken from the security cameras. Taking a step forwards, staring at the screen, the Master took some thoughtful puffs on his cigar. A rapping knock at the door made the Master spin.
“Come,” he barked, not turning from the screen.
Opening the door and silently entering, closing the door behind him, Lemaitre entered and stood silently just inside the room before speaking. “The admin. staff have now all gone home, Master.” He said finally.
Slowly, the Master turned to face Lemaitre. “Have the security staff arrived yet?”
“Yes, office and main gate security have arrived.” Lemaitre nodded.
Reaching into his inside jacket pocket, the Master retrieved the remote and pointed it at the screen, flicking through different images. The larger main screen split into two as the Master gained an image of the front desk and the front gate.
Getting up from where she was sat behind the desk, Andrea got to her feet and walked round to stand beside the Master and Lemaitre. Removing her glasses from her face, Andrea stepped forwards towards the screen, examining the faces as they moved about.
“That’s him,” she said, pointing to a blonde haired man.
“Our Myrmidon in the horse,” the Master purred as he stepped closer to the screen. “Well, we shall have to keep an eye on our Myrmidon visitor and make sure that he doesn’t wander into the restricted area.”
“And if he does?” Lemaitre asked.
“Well,” the Master said, turning from his screen and taking another puff of his cigar. “He shall have to be taken care of. We will have another pair of eyes and ears in the UNIT ranks.”
“Another facsimile, why not just copy him now?” Lemaitre asked.
“That would be a bad idea.” The Master replied. “We want to give the impression that this company is running normally and so we have to maintain the illusion of normality. That is why the Autons will remain unseen in the restricted area, working on the masks and other projects.”
“If we do anything out of the ordinary, it might alert him and he may make a report to UNIT.” Andrea said, turning to face Lemaitre, shooting a glance at the Master for confirmation of her statement.
“They won’t see through the Facsimile’s will they?” Lemaitre asked.
“The facsimiles are perfect replicas, down to characteristic and personality traits to memory prints.” The Master purred. “They are undetectable and indistinguishable from the real person.”
“Then, what do we do now?” Lemaitre asked, looking at the Master.
Seemingly ignoring the question, the Master walked over to his chair and picked the glass of brandy off the table and took a large sip before replacing the glass. Clamping his cigar between his teeth again, the Master turned to Lemaitre and indicated his chair.
“Please, Lemaitre, sit.” He said softly. Obediently, the Frenchman walked over to the chair and sat down. Moving to stand before him, the Master removed the cigar from his mouth, resting it on the silver tray and leant forwards, resting his hands on the arms of the chair and looking into Lemaitre’s face. “Now look into my eyes. You will hear only my voice and will obey me. You will obey, obey.”
“I will obey,” Lemaitre repeated.
Standing up straight, the Master stepped back and clicked his fingers. At the sound, Lemaitre got to his feet. “Master,” he said flatly, awaiting further instructions.
Turning the Master strode away from Lemaitre and towards the desk muttering. “Incompetent primitive. He’s lucky he’s vital to giving a normal outlook to the proceedings here otherwise he would have been destroyed long ago.”
“How long before the plan is completed?” Andrea asked, walking back to the desk and placing the files back in the drawer.
“All going well, my dear, another week. And the power and influence I promised will be ours.” The Master smiled placing his hand on Andrea’s cheek before turning back to face Lemaitre. “We should check on the other production line, but first we should get rid of this fool.”
Slowly, the Master walked back over to the frozen form of Lemaitre and glared at the Frenchman. Reaching round Lemaitre, he picked up his cigar and puffed on it thoughtfully before walking round to face him.
“Lemaitre. You will obey. You will leave the factory and return home. You shall return here for eight AM tomorrow morning, no earlier, no later. On your way out, you will inform the security guards that you are the last to leave. Do you understand?”
“I understand.” Lemaitre flatly replied.
“The leave us,” the Master said, snapping his fingers and turning away as Lemaitre turned and left the room.
Crossing the room and closing the well concealed door, Lemaitre stepped into the reception area outside his own office and beside Andrea Rogers’ desk. Shaking his head as if to clear a fading memory, Lemaitre opened the door into his office and stepped in, collecting his briefcase from the desk and coat from the back of the door.
Locking his office door behind him, Lemaitre made to cross Andrea’s office outside his own, spotting the flashing light beside the power button to the computer monitor on Andrea’s desk. Reaching over and switching it off, he crossed to the doors to the admin. block and turned off the main lights before making his way down towards the reception area of the building.
Whistling La Marseillaise, Lemaitre walked down the stairs and out through the reception area, nodding to the security guards as he went. Crossing the car park, Lemaitre unlocked his 1993 MG RV8 and climbed in, throwing his brief case onto the passenger seat.
Unseen, from a reflective window on the uppermost floor of the office building, the Master watched through the darkened glass as Lemaitre drove out of the car park towards the main gate and the security guard fastened it afterwards. Smiling to himself and nodding he turned back into the office as Andrea turned off the desk lamp.
“Hadn’t we better check on the other factory now?” She asked.
“You’re quite right, my dear.” The Master replied crossing the room to the grandfather clock.
Fishing in his jacket pocket, the Master pulled out an inverted ankh shaped piece of metal, with dark dots positioned on one side, linked up with black lines, forming a rudimentary star chart. Holding the metal shape in front of him, he slipped it into an almost imperceptible slot on the clock. Twisting the key, the Master stepped back as the whole front of the clock swung open, revealing a yawning black chasm.
“After you, my dear,” he smiled at Andrea, indicating the dark doorway.
Walking across the room, Andrea turned off the office lights, and the lighting dimmed, lit only by the now dim light coming through the office window. Crossing back to the clock, Andrea ducked inside, followed by the Master, repositioning the front of the clock behind him. After several seconds, the room was filled by a wheezing and groaning sound, and the Masters’ TARDIS faded away.
“Yes, you seemed to have done some research. I could imagine that Monsieur Lemaitre could have done the same.” The Doctor replied.
“But what you’ve told me of this Master, Lemaitre is far too young to be him.” Morris protested.
“He also didn’t give out any of the usual telepathic traces that a Time Lord would.” The Doctor agreed turning to Tom. “What did you find?”
“Nothing out of the usual.” Tom shrugged. “I looked for everything you told me to look for, and saw none of it. Met a chap called Bernard Rogers, that secretary’s uncle; he seemed a nice old chap.”
“And did you try as I suggested?”
Tom nodded. “Tried all the mental tricks you showed me, and got nothing, anywhere in the factory. All the stuff was normal, I checked their products. The dummies make up very little of their production, I checked, they’re metal and plastic, like crash test dummies. I’m beginning to think this was just a coincidence.”
“I still don’t know,” the Doctor said. “It could still all be hidden somewhere there.”
“Look, even if they are up to something, we’ll know about it.” Morris added swiftly, causing the Doctor and Tom to look at him sharply. “I suppose I’d better tell you; I’ve arranged for some agents to be placed at the local factories through security companies, which is why we won’t have the manpower to commence raids.”
“What do you mean?” Tom asked.
“I’ve arranged for one man to be placed under cover as security for each of the factories in the local area tonight. One of the regular team for each factory is going to be replaced so my men can keep an eye out. If there is going to be any clandestine activities, I doubt it’d happen during the day.” Morris explained.
“And when were you planning on telling me this?” The Doctor asked looking at Morris.
“I didn’t want to compromise the operation.” Morris admitted shifting uncomfortably in the passenger seat.
“Will, Will, Will, Will, Will,” the Doctor sighed shaking his head. “If you expect us to have a proper working relationship, and want me to work with you in the first place, you need to tell me these things. Fortunately it’s nothing too serious; you used a good bit of initiative there, well done. But from now on, you must let me know of all these things.”
Morris looked from the Doctor to Tom, unsure of how to react to the Doctors comments. He wasn’t sure whether the Time Lord was being sarcastic or not. He certainly hoped he wasn’t. Glancing back at the Time Lord, he saw he was sitting back in the seat, a worried look over his face. Morris glanced back at Tom, to see the young man shrug at him before putting his finger to his lips and indicating the Doctor with his head.
Nodding, Morris took the message; the Doctor had withdrawn into himself for a think. Most probably about the results that they had, or more likely hadn’t, got at Lemaitre’s factory. Turning back to face the front, he glanced across at Baxter, the driver, who was silently concentrating on the road. Suddenly feeling uncomfortable in the silent car, Morris glanced in the rear view mirror; Tom was staring out of the window, seemingly bored and the Doctor still seemed deep in thought. Reaching forwards, Morris grabbed the radio off the dashboard.
“Greyhound one to trap seven.” He said, repeating the call sign before static crackled through the speakers and a Sergeant Lovatt’s voice replied.
“Trap seven receiving Greyhound. Go ahead.”
“What’s the status on operation Trojan Horse?” He asked winding up the window as the car slowed as it entered traffic.
“All Myrmidons are in the horses, awaiting nightfall.” Lovatt’s tinny voice replied.
Scratching at his receding hair line, Morris raised the radio to his lips again. “Nightfall has come. Greyhound one out.” He said.
“Nightfall? Myrmidon?” Tom’s voice asked from the back seat. “Sounds like one of the bands Jess listens to.”
“Greek mythology.” The Doctor replied before Morris could answer. “Going from the title ‘Operation Trojan Horse’ being the spies in the security teams, the Myrmidons would refer to the spies and Nightfall, I would assume, be the keyword to start the operation and get the men out to the factories. After all, it was the Myrmidons who were inside the Trojan horse; and I should know, I was there.”
Morris looked dumbfounded at the Doctor, who merely smiled at him.
“Am I right, Will?” He asked.
“Spot on.” Morris managed. “Although hopefully it won’t make sense if someone was listening in. Not that that happens, but it’s best to err on the side of caution.”
*
The Master sat back in a high backed, leather upholstered chair in a wood panelled room. A couple of lights illuminated him in his corner as he sat reading a first edition of War and Peace, in the original Russian. A small table sat beside him, upon which sat a silver tray with a crystal decanter of the finest Napoleon brandy, from the Napoleonic Empire itself, and a glass containing some of the liquid.
Clamping the Cuban cigar he was smoking between his teeth, the Master flicked over a page and then picked up the brandy glass. Removing the cigar, he took a sip of the caramel coloured liquid before replacing the snifter glass back on the silver tray. Resting the book on his knees briefly, the Master closed his eyes and leant his head back, listening to the deep ticking of the Grandfather clock in the opposite corner, as the sound resonated round the room.
The sound of the door opening made the Master open his eyes and he looked up as Andrea Rogers entered.
“Night security will be here shortly.” She said stopping in the middle of the room and looking at him.
“Excellent,” the Master smiled.
Snapping the large book closed and placing it on the table beside the silver tray, the Master picked up a remote control. Pointing it at the far wall, he pressed a button and the wooden panels slid away, one behind the other, revealing a large collection of monitor screens, with the largest in the centre. The blue haze from the screens brightened the room considerably. Pressing another button, one of the smaller screens changed to the image of a road being driven along. The image turned as the facsimile turned and looked at Morris as he revealed his agents working in security companies around the London area.
“I wonder which our Myrmidon will be.” He purred as he got to his feet. “I trust you will be able to spot him my dear?”
“Of course,” Andrea replied turning to the Master. “I’ve made sure to keep a very close eye on the security staff.”
“Excellent,” the Master smiled again, placing his hand on Andrea’s shoulder. “I knew I could rely on you my dear.”
Smiling, Andrea walked round to the desk in the room and opened one of the drawers, removing a series of files containing personnel records. Sitting at the desk, she turned on the desk lap and started reading through the records as the Master stepped towards the screens. The sound of Toms voice asking a question filtered through.
“That Mr. Rowan fascinates me,” the Master said, raising a hand and waving a finger at the screen. “He has mental and telepathic capabilities far beyond what any human should have in this time. His abilities were almost Gallifreyan. In fact, I would go so far as to say that he is.”
Pausing, the Master raised the remote to the screens and flicked through one of them until a picture of Tom filled the screen, a still taken from the security cameras. Taking a step forwards, staring at the screen, the Master took some thoughtful puffs on his cigar. A rapping knock at the door made the Master spin.
“Come,” he barked, not turning from the screen.
Opening the door and silently entering, closing the door behind him, Lemaitre entered and stood silently just inside the room before speaking. “The admin. staff have now all gone home, Master.” He said finally.
Slowly, the Master turned to face Lemaitre. “Have the security staff arrived yet?”
“Yes, office and main gate security have arrived.” Lemaitre nodded.
Reaching into his inside jacket pocket, the Master retrieved the remote and pointed it at the screen, flicking through different images. The larger main screen split into two as the Master gained an image of the front desk and the front gate.
Getting up from where she was sat behind the desk, Andrea got to her feet and walked round to stand beside the Master and Lemaitre. Removing her glasses from her face, Andrea stepped forwards towards the screen, examining the faces as they moved about.
“That’s him,” she said, pointing to a blonde haired man.
“Our Myrmidon in the horse,” the Master purred as he stepped closer to the screen. “Well, we shall have to keep an eye on our Myrmidon visitor and make sure that he doesn’t wander into the restricted area.”
“And if he does?” Lemaitre asked.
“Well,” the Master said, turning from his screen and taking another puff of his cigar. “He shall have to be taken care of. We will have another pair of eyes and ears in the UNIT ranks.”
“Another facsimile, why not just copy him now?” Lemaitre asked.
“That would be a bad idea.” The Master replied. “We want to give the impression that this company is running normally and so we have to maintain the illusion of normality. That is why the Autons will remain unseen in the restricted area, working on the masks and other projects.”
“If we do anything out of the ordinary, it might alert him and he may make a report to UNIT.” Andrea said, turning to face Lemaitre, shooting a glance at the Master for confirmation of her statement.
“They won’t see through the Facsimile’s will they?” Lemaitre asked.
“The facsimiles are perfect replicas, down to characteristic and personality traits to memory prints.” The Master purred. “They are undetectable and indistinguishable from the real person.”
“Then, what do we do now?” Lemaitre asked, looking at the Master.
Seemingly ignoring the question, the Master walked over to his chair and picked the glass of brandy off the table and took a large sip before replacing the glass. Clamping his cigar between his teeth again, the Master turned to Lemaitre and indicated his chair.
“Please, Lemaitre, sit.” He said softly. Obediently, the Frenchman walked over to the chair and sat down. Moving to stand before him, the Master removed the cigar from his mouth, resting it on the silver tray and leant forwards, resting his hands on the arms of the chair and looking into Lemaitre’s face. “Now look into my eyes. You will hear only my voice and will obey me. You will obey, obey.”
“I will obey,” Lemaitre repeated.
Standing up straight, the Master stepped back and clicked his fingers. At the sound, Lemaitre got to his feet. “Master,” he said flatly, awaiting further instructions.
Turning the Master strode away from Lemaitre and towards the desk muttering. “Incompetent primitive. He’s lucky he’s vital to giving a normal outlook to the proceedings here otherwise he would have been destroyed long ago.”
“How long before the plan is completed?” Andrea asked, walking back to the desk and placing the files back in the drawer.
“All going well, my dear, another week. And the power and influence I promised will be ours.” The Master smiled placing his hand on Andrea’s cheek before turning back to face Lemaitre. “We should check on the other production line, but first we should get rid of this fool.”
Slowly, the Master walked back over to the frozen form of Lemaitre and glared at the Frenchman. Reaching round Lemaitre, he picked up his cigar and puffed on it thoughtfully before walking round to face him.
“Lemaitre. You will obey. You will leave the factory and return home. You shall return here for eight AM tomorrow morning, no earlier, no later. On your way out, you will inform the security guards that you are the last to leave. Do you understand?”
“I understand.” Lemaitre flatly replied.
“The leave us,” the Master said, snapping his fingers and turning away as Lemaitre turned and left the room.
Crossing the room and closing the well concealed door, Lemaitre stepped into the reception area outside his own office and beside Andrea Rogers’ desk. Shaking his head as if to clear a fading memory, Lemaitre opened the door into his office and stepped in, collecting his briefcase from the desk and coat from the back of the door.
Locking his office door behind him, Lemaitre made to cross Andrea’s office outside his own, spotting the flashing light beside the power button to the computer monitor on Andrea’s desk. Reaching over and switching it off, he crossed to the doors to the admin. block and turned off the main lights before making his way down towards the reception area of the building.
Whistling La Marseillaise, Lemaitre walked down the stairs and out through the reception area, nodding to the security guards as he went. Crossing the car park, Lemaitre unlocked his 1993 MG RV8 and climbed in, throwing his brief case onto the passenger seat.
*
Unseen, from a reflective window on the uppermost floor of the office building, the Master watched through the darkened glass as Lemaitre drove out of the car park towards the main gate and the security guard fastened it afterwards. Smiling to himself and nodding he turned back into the office as Andrea turned off the desk lamp.
“Hadn’t we better check on the other factory now?” She asked.
“You’re quite right, my dear.” The Master replied crossing the room to the grandfather clock.
Fishing in his jacket pocket, the Master pulled out an inverted ankh shaped piece of metal, with dark dots positioned on one side, linked up with black lines, forming a rudimentary star chart. Holding the metal shape in front of him, he slipped it into an almost imperceptible slot on the clock. Twisting the key, the Master stepped back as the whole front of the clock swung open, revealing a yawning black chasm.
“After you, my dear,” he smiled at Andrea, indicating the dark doorway.
Walking across the room, Andrea turned off the office lights, and the lighting dimmed, lit only by the now dim light coming through the office window. Crossing back to the clock, Andrea ducked inside, followed by the Master, repositioning the front of the clock behind him. After several seconds, the room was filled by a wheezing and groaning sound, and the Masters’ TARDIS faded away.
