Post by Fitz Kreiner on Sept 30, 2010 11:24:15 GMT
“The Master?” Crompton asked. “And what do you want to talk to him about?”
“That’s none of your business,” Tom said, absently checking the nails on his right hand.
“The Master is my prisoner, and therefore he and everyone who comes to see him is my business,” Crompton replied.
“And I am an operative of UNIT,” Tom countered. “I am bound by the official secrets act, whether you’ve signed it or not to hold the Master is immaterial. I am here to see him, and that is that.”
“I could refuse you access to him,” Crompton said, leaning back in his chair and steepling his fingers.
“You could, but you won’t,” Tom replied, looking at Crompton again. “You can block me now, but I can be back in an hour with a warrant to take the Master off your hands. So if you want to keep this job of yours, you’ll let me see him. Don’t forget, I did catch him, I know what he’s capable of. You’re lucky you and he are still here.”
“Don’t you think you’re playing your power cards a little early?” Crompton asked, leaning forwards.
Tom smiled thinly. “Thank you,” he said. “No need to show me the way down.”
Crompton’s face turned into a scowl as Tom got to his feet. “Very well, I’ll let them know you’re coming down.”
“Most kind,” Tom said, turning and smiling sarcastically.
Watching Tom leave, Crompton then made the call he said he would before pulling open a drawer in his desk. Inside sat another telephone, this one with no buttons, just a direct line. Picking up the receiver, he heard the ringing on the other end before it was picked up.
“Yes?” the voice asked.
“Kevin Crompton here, sir,” Crompton said. “Wingmoore Institute.”
“Wingmoore? Yes, what is it Crompton,” the voice asked.
“I’ve currently got a visitor,” Crompton replied, “a Mr. Tom Rowan, from UNIT. He’s here to see the prisoner.”
“I doubt that he’s there to see you, Crompton,” the voice replied. “Are there any other UNIT personnel there?”
“Not that I know of, sir.”
“Have you got his cell under surveillance?” the voice asked.
“Of course, sir,” Crompton replied. “Anything they say will be transcribed and sent to you immediately.”
“Sent securely, I hope, Crompton,” the voice said. “I need not stress how secret and important all this is.”
“Indeed, sir,” Crompton replied. “Sir, do you want me to keep allowing Rowan access to the prisoner?”
“For the time being,” the voice replied. “They’ll soon give themselves away.”
“So, what should I do for now?” Crompton asked.
“Your job, Crompton, and whenever anyone visits your prisoner, record their meeting.”
Crompton made to reply, but was greeted by the sound of the phone on the other side being hung up. Shrugging to himself, he replaced the receiver and slid the drawer closed. Getting to his feet, he then crossed to where he monitored the security cameras and flicked on the monitors.
“All ready, sir?” the guard, he’d told Tom his name, but he hadn’t been paying attention.
“Yep,” Tom said, his expression flat as he laid his coat and hat on the chair.
The small half-way office had only two doors, both electronically controlled independently from the side farthest from the cell. This meant the two men who manned the half-way office were locked in until their colleagues outside the office opened the door.
“We don’t need to give you the lecture,” the other guard said as he hit the switch and the door slid open.
“Thanks,” Tom said, stepping through to the corridor beyond.
“Just let us know when you’re ready to come out, we’re seconds away,” the guard replied before the door slid closed.
Tom walked down the corridor. It was grey concrete with iron supports laid into it. The floor was a grey metal grid that clanged under his footfalls. It reminded him strongly of that film Jess had shown him. It seemed like years ago now. What was it called? He wracked his brains as he made his way down the corridor, now able to see into the cell. It was partitioned by thick and strong plastic. Security cameras were positioned all over the place. Then it hit him; it was just like Silence of the Lambs. He half expected to see Anthony Hopkins sat inside the cell instead of the man he had come to see.
Looking up into the security camera, the cell door clicked and slid open. He swallowed hard before stepping inside. The prisoner was obscured behind an unfurled copy of The Times, a glass of what looked like brandy sat on the table beside the leather wing backed chair he was in, and a cigar sat smoking in an ash tray beside that.
“Ah, Mr. Rowan, how good of you to come,” he said, not moving. “I assume it is these current affairs that have brought you here. Please, take a seat,” he added, almost as an afterthought.
“What do you know?” Tom replied, not wanting to reveal his hand too early as he took a seat facing the other man.
“Only what the papers have printed.” The Master closed and folded the paper, revealing himself finally.
Tom felt a slight shiver go through him. His third meeting with the man, only this time, the Doctor was nowhere about. He almost felt humbled by the presence of the Master. He was a lot more knowledgeable and powerful than Tom, and he knew it. At least this time the Master was incarcerated and Tom had the backing of UNIT and probably the whole of the British army. At least he used to. Now he wasn’t so sure.
The Master picked up his cigar and took a puff before picking up a box and offering one of the cigars to Tom, who held his hand up, declining. The Master paused and cocked his head to one side, the cigar clamped between his teeth. Removing the cigar his face adopted a look of concern.
“Are you alright, Mr. Rowan?” he asked.
“Well enough.” Tom replied, trying hard to keep his face set. He could feel his head pounding, but wasn’t sure whether it was because of the situation he was now in, or yet another of the aggressive headaches he’d been suffering.
“Are you sure? You’re looking rather pale, and the bruising around your eyes hints that you’ve been unwell. Headaches?” The Master asked.
“We’re not here to discuss my health,” Tom replied sharply.
“No, I somehow doubt you’re here for a social call. James Duncan, new king of Britain after the public rallied round him and called for Elizabeth to abdicate due to his stronger claims.” The Master said.
“That’s what the public know.” Tom confirmed.
“Tell me why I should be bothered?” The Master said, taking a sip of brandy. “I’ve never cared much for humanity.”
“Because if the intelligence we’ve gathered is true, it will affect you. Don’t forget, you’re trapped here.”
“As are you, Mr. Rowan.”
“I’m here through choice,” Tom snapped. “You, however, are incarcerated. I can walk out of here if I please and leave you to your fate.”
“I assume that the Doctor is nowhere to be seen, hence your presence here.” The Master retorted. “If I’m trapped on this planet then so are you.”
Tom’s lips twisted into a scowl. The Master had hit onto a sore spot, and they both knew it. “The Doctor is otherwise engaged,” he replied.
“That’s a yes, then,” the Master chuckled. “Oh dear, oh dear, Mr. Rowan, whatever did you do for him to abandon you like that?”
“As I said, the Doctor is indisposed at the moment,” Tom replied firmly.
“Very well, Mr. Rowan,” the Master smiled, “we’ll play it your way. I assume you want to know whether I know if Mr. Duncan’s claims are true, or whether or not I’m behind this.”
“I-” Tom began, fumbling over what he was going to say.
“Oh my dear Mr. Rowan,” the Master laughed. “One time innocent, I am as much behind the events that are transpiring as you are.”
“Yeah, well your track record doesn’t fill me with confidence, for some funny reason I don’t believe you,” Tom sneered.
“Well, I’m rather afraid you must,” the Master replied, sitting back and gently placing his fingers together. “Do you really think this whole convoluted scheme is my doing?”
“You, well,” Tom faltered and looked away as a surge of pain lanced through his eyes. His headache was getting worse.
“You weren’t sure, were you?” the Master asked as he leant forwards. “Are you quite sure you’re alright Mr. Rowan?”
“Yes,” Tom snapped, looking back at the Master, who sat back, holding his hands out in a placating manner. “Yes, I fine, thanks,” he muttered through gritted teeth.
“Then tell me,” the Master said spreading his hands, “why are you paying me this visit. Not that it’s not welcome, of course; I’m painfully low on visitors here.”
“My hearts bleed for you,” Tom sighed.
“This whole thing isn’t my style at all,” the Master said, taking another puff on his cigar before picking up the brandy and taking a sip. “So tell me, why have you come to visit me; the only other Time Lord on this spinning ball of dirt?”
“Alright,” Tom said before swallowing hard and allowing himself a moment to compose himself. “I can’t tell you everything, obviously, because of security reasons,”
“Obviously,” the Master smiled.
“And, well, I’m curious,” Tom admitted. “I don’t know everything about the history of Earth, and the monarchy systems were something that passed me by completely. I have no idea if the current monarch is meant to be Elizabeth the second, James the third or Dave the whatever.”
“Ah, so the Doctor has left Earth,” the Master chuckled. “And you want to carry on his noble crusade with my help, is that it?”
Tom winced slightly. “I just want to pick your brains about a few things, that’s all,” he said.
“My dear Mr. Rowan; I see no reason why I should help you in your little quest,” the Master sneered before sitting back and picking up his newspaper. “Thank you for your visit; good day.”
With a move that merely made the Master raise an eyebrow, Tom leant forwards and snatched the paper from him. “I told you, if we’ve, if I’ve got this right, it will affect you just as much as it will me. At least I’ll have a chance of getting off Earth and away from it all.”
The Master’s face broke into a wry smile as he nodded slightly. “Good, good,” he smiled. “It’s good to see that you are a man of principals, well done.”
“Does that mean I can count on your help?”
“Oh, I may offer it, as and when I choose, and maybe for the right price?” the Master replied.
“This isn’t open to negotiation,” Tom replied.
“And that’s where you’re falling down, Mr. Rowan,” the Master replied.
“I’m not gonna trade you information for your freedom,” Tom said making to get to his feet. “I have other means.”
“We both know you don’t have other means, please sit down,” the Master sighed. “I’ll hear you out.”
“Ok,” Tom replied, trying to mask his relief that the Master had agreed. “Well, you’ve probably guessed that I’ve got my doubts about the whole shebang with Duncan. And then there’s the whole thing with what the press have started to call the ‘Tower UFO’s’, and, well, I’ve kinda got this feeling.”
“Feeling?” the Master queried.
Shifting in his chair, Tom shifted his weight from one side to the other. “What I want to know from you know is; who should be the current monarch?”
“I do hope you’re not using me as a tool for a pub quiz?” the Master smiled. “Would I be right in thinking that our Mr Duncan is setting up blocks for your investigation and UNIT friends?”
“Did you know it’s rude to answer someone’s question with another question?” Tom retorted.
“Very well, Mr Rowan,” the Master chucked, picking up his brandy and cigar again. “I do not recall a King James the Third ascending to the throne at this time, in fact, Queen Elizabeth the second should remain on the British throne into the early decades of the twenty first century.”
“Thanks,” Tom said, his thoughts starting to race. “So do you think-?” he started before the Master cut him off by holding a hand up.
“I am correct in I disagreeumption as to why you have come to me?”
“I have hit a few snags with my investigation, yes,” Tom said, shifting uncomfortably again.
“Now, Mr. Rowan,” the Master smiled leaning forwards. “You know what I mean; where is the dear Doctor? Why isn’t he here for a gloat?”
“He’s otherwise detained,” Tom replied.
“Off Earth?”
“Yes, if you must know,” Tom snapped.
“Finally,” the Master smiled. “There, you see Mr. Rowan? You’re opening up and building some trust with me.”
Tom grimaced slightly. The one thing he didn’t really want to do was allow the Master access to his head. He may have been the only other Time Lord on Earth at that moment, but he wasn’t Tom’s first choice of companion.
“I’m only here because I need some information,” he finally said.
“Yes, so you’ve said,” the Master replied calmly. “And it’s clear that you’re unwell. Would you care to discuss it? I somehow doubt that any of the so called physicians on this primitive planet have the capacity to deal with a Time Lord.”
“I told you I’m not here to discuss my health with you,” Tom replied curtly.
“Well, if you ever feel the need,” the Master said with a police sweep of the room with his hand, “I am at your disposal.” Pausing, the Master leant forwards, “I’m not going anywhere,” he added with a smile.
“Yes,” Tom said slowly before collecting himself and getting to his feet. “Well, I know where you are if I need your, services shall we say, again.”
“Well, Mr. Rowan, it has been a pleasure,” the Master smiled getting to his feet and holding his hand out towards Tom.
“I wish I could say the same,” Tom replied, ignoring the Master’s offered hand and turning on his heel and walking out of the cell.
Watching him go, the Master pursed his lips and nodded to himself, before retrieving his news paper and sitting back down. He didn’t bother to look up when the door slid itself shut and locked with a heavy clicking sound.
His head pounding, Tom took his coat and hat from the half way office outside the corridor leading to the cell with hardly a word.
“Is everything alright, sir?” one of the guards asked, as he put his hat on.
“Yeah, fine,” he said faintly.
“We’ve had a message from Governor Crompton,” the guard continued. “He wants to see you before you leave.”
“Lucky me,” Tom sighed before turning to face the guard who had said it. “Thanks,” he added with a half smile. “If you’ll get them to open the door please?”
Sitting in his office, Kevin Crompton scratched his head as he tried to make sense of what the UNIT operative, Rowan, and the prisoner had been talking about. He was aware that some of their conversation was verging on near treason, or at least would be had James Duncan actually been crowned. In less than two weeks, he would be, and this kind of talk would most certainly get the strange Rowan a place in a cell nearby.
The conversation between Rowan and the Prisoner had been recorded, and as soon as Rowan had left the institute, Crompton would transcribe it and get it shipped to its destination. Normally, he wouldn’t bother with such trivial tasks, but due to the nature of the conversation, he wanted to make sure that no one who shouldn’t hear or read the material got their hands on it.
A knock at the door make his head snap up as it opened and Rowan walked in.
“You wanted to see me?” he asked.
“Yes, come in,” Crompton said, indicating for Rowan to sit in the chair on the opposite side of the desk.
“Well?” Rowan asked as he sat down and peered at a finger nail before putting it in his mouth and biting it.
“I was wondering,” Crompton said, adopting a casual tone. “Is this a fleeting visit or are you planning on visiting us more often?”
Rowan shrugged and looked at Crompton. There was something about the ice blue eyes that made him shudder. “It depends,” he replied after a while. “I may have to pop back to see the Master, I may not. But if I do, I’ll need access to him as it’s rather important. I would let you in, but, y’know, official secrets and all that.”
“Indeed,” Crompton said with a smile. If only you knew, he thought as he said it, feeling the smugness at knowing everything that had been said between the two men. “Well, if you do feel the need to pay us a visit again, feel free to, but do try to telephone ahead would you?”
“I’ll try,” Rowan replied in the same bored and insolent tone. “But like I said, if I need to have a chat with the Master, then I’ll need to have a chat with him. There’s a lot still to be uncovered and I think our little chats can eventually sort that.”
“Oh really?” Crompton asked, leaning forward on his desk.
“Yes, really,” Rowan replied. “As I said; official secrets and all that. But I will tell you this,” he added before leaning in conspiratorially, “if I pop in without calling ahead, I’ll still need to chat to him.”
“As I said, try to call ahead,” Crompton said, grimacing and sitting back.
“And I said; I’ll try.”
“May I ask what you need to see him about?”
Rowan pursed his lips and thoughtfully stroked his beard, causing Crompton to narrow his eyes. He’d seen the prisoner do the same before now whilst observing him reading the paper.
“You’re treating him pretty well; brandy and cigars? I wouldn’t have thought a terrorist would have received such comforts. He pay well?” Rowan asked, the right side of his mouth curling up in a smile.
“What are you implying Mr. Rowan?” Crompton asked outraged.
“Your boss,” Rowan replied with an air of innocence. “Y’know, guy in charge of this prison? I mean, brandy and cigars for a prisoner, and some of the stuff in his cell too, we’re talking luxury prison. I can see why he’s not tried to escape.”
“Hmm,” Crompton mused, narrowing his eyes to look at Rowan. “Well, thank you for your visit; I’m sure we’ll be seeing each other again soon.”
“I’m sure we will,” Rowan replied in the same tone of voice Crompton had used. “I’ll see myself out.”
Crompton watched Rowan depart, the anger still bubbling away in him. The young man was arrogant and insolent and showed no respect for his position. Getting to his feet, Crompton walked over to the surveillance controls and activated the screens. He brought up a picture of the reception area; a young woman was sitting in one of the chairs reading a glossy magazine. From her posture, clothes and hair style, Crompton could tell that she was military, most probably came with Rowan.
He watched as the doors in the top corner of the screen, which lead to the offices, slammed open and Rowan stormed out, his leather trench coat billowing melodramatically behind him. The young woman looked up as he approached and put the magazine down. He could see Rowans lips moving and wished that he’d installed audio devices in the reception. That would be the next thing he did.
“Well?” Loding asked as Tom approached.
“Outside,” he hissed, shooting a glance over his shoulder at Watson. “I think we should head back to HQ.”
Silently, the two left the building and headed to the small car park. Reaching the car, Loding unlocked it and opened the driver’s door, looking up when Tom opened the passenger door.
“You had a clear line of sight all the time, didn’t see anyone hovering around the car did you?” he asked as he sat down on the passenger seat.
“Erm, yeah, no one went near it,” Loding replied as she keyed the ignition.
“Good,” Tom said, glancing over his shoulder as the car drove down the drive. “I don’t trust them there.”
“What do you mean?”
“Something about Crompton,” Tom replied settling down. “He’s more than just an arse.”
“You think he’s bent?” Loding asked as she turned onto the main road.
“I dunno,” Tom replied. “He could be under the Master’s control, but I may just be wrong. I just feel like he’s got ulterior motives, like he wants to check up on me when it comes to my being there.”
As the black Mercedes drove away into the December morning, they were watched by the driver of a nondescript red Citroën. Waiting until they had set off down the road, the driver set off after them.
“That’s none of your business,” Tom said, absently checking the nails on his right hand.
“The Master is my prisoner, and therefore he and everyone who comes to see him is my business,” Crompton replied.
“And I am an operative of UNIT,” Tom countered. “I am bound by the official secrets act, whether you’ve signed it or not to hold the Master is immaterial. I am here to see him, and that is that.”
“I could refuse you access to him,” Crompton said, leaning back in his chair and steepling his fingers.
“You could, but you won’t,” Tom replied, looking at Crompton again. “You can block me now, but I can be back in an hour with a warrant to take the Master off your hands. So if you want to keep this job of yours, you’ll let me see him. Don’t forget, I did catch him, I know what he’s capable of. You’re lucky you and he are still here.”
“Don’t you think you’re playing your power cards a little early?” Crompton asked, leaning forwards.
Tom smiled thinly. “Thank you,” he said. “No need to show me the way down.”
Crompton’s face turned into a scowl as Tom got to his feet. “Very well, I’ll let them know you’re coming down.”
“Most kind,” Tom said, turning and smiling sarcastically.
Watching Tom leave, Crompton then made the call he said he would before pulling open a drawer in his desk. Inside sat another telephone, this one with no buttons, just a direct line. Picking up the receiver, he heard the ringing on the other end before it was picked up.
“Yes?” the voice asked.
“Kevin Crompton here, sir,” Crompton said. “Wingmoore Institute.”
“Wingmoore? Yes, what is it Crompton,” the voice asked.
“I’ve currently got a visitor,” Crompton replied, “a Mr. Tom Rowan, from UNIT. He’s here to see the prisoner.”
“I doubt that he’s there to see you, Crompton,” the voice replied. “Are there any other UNIT personnel there?”
“Not that I know of, sir.”
“Have you got his cell under surveillance?” the voice asked.
“Of course, sir,” Crompton replied. “Anything they say will be transcribed and sent to you immediately.”
“Sent securely, I hope, Crompton,” the voice said. “I need not stress how secret and important all this is.”
“Indeed, sir,” Crompton replied. “Sir, do you want me to keep allowing Rowan access to the prisoner?”
“For the time being,” the voice replied. “They’ll soon give themselves away.”
“So, what should I do for now?” Crompton asked.
“Your job, Crompton, and whenever anyone visits your prisoner, record their meeting.”
Crompton made to reply, but was greeted by the sound of the phone on the other side being hung up. Shrugging to himself, he replaced the receiver and slid the drawer closed. Getting to his feet, he then crossed to where he monitored the security cameras and flicked on the monitors.
*
“All ready, sir?” the guard, he’d told Tom his name, but he hadn’t been paying attention.
“Yep,” Tom said, his expression flat as he laid his coat and hat on the chair.
The small half-way office had only two doors, both electronically controlled independently from the side farthest from the cell. This meant the two men who manned the half-way office were locked in until their colleagues outside the office opened the door.
“We don’t need to give you the lecture,” the other guard said as he hit the switch and the door slid open.
“Thanks,” Tom said, stepping through to the corridor beyond.
“Just let us know when you’re ready to come out, we’re seconds away,” the guard replied before the door slid closed.
Tom walked down the corridor. It was grey concrete with iron supports laid into it. The floor was a grey metal grid that clanged under his footfalls. It reminded him strongly of that film Jess had shown him. It seemed like years ago now. What was it called? He wracked his brains as he made his way down the corridor, now able to see into the cell. It was partitioned by thick and strong plastic. Security cameras were positioned all over the place. Then it hit him; it was just like Silence of the Lambs. He half expected to see Anthony Hopkins sat inside the cell instead of the man he had come to see.
Looking up into the security camera, the cell door clicked and slid open. He swallowed hard before stepping inside. The prisoner was obscured behind an unfurled copy of The Times, a glass of what looked like brandy sat on the table beside the leather wing backed chair he was in, and a cigar sat smoking in an ash tray beside that.
“Ah, Mr. Rowan, how good of you to come,” he said, not moving. “I assume it is these current affairs that have brought you here. Please, take a seat,” he added, almost as an afterthought.
“What do you know?” Tom replied, not wanting to reveal his hand too early as he took a seat facing the other man.
“Only what the papers have printed.” The Master closed and folded the paper, revealing himself finally.
Tom felt a slight shiver go through him. His third meeting with the man, only this time, the Doctor was nowhere about. He almost felt humbled by the presence of the Master. He was a lot more knowledgeable and powerful than Tom, and he knew it. At least this time the Master was incarcerated and Tom had the backing of UNIT and probably the whole of the British army. At least he used to. Now he wasn’t so sure.
The Master picked up his cigar and took a puff before picking up a box and offering one of the cigars to Tom, who held his hand up, declining. The Master paused and cocked his head to one side, the cigar clamped between his teeth. Removing the cigar his face adopted a look of concern.
“Are you alright, Mr. Rowan?” he asked.
“Well enough.” Tom replied, trying hard to keep his face set. He could feel his head pounding, but wasn’t sure whether it was because of the situation he was now in, or yet another of the aggressive headaches he’d been suffering.
“Are you sure? You’re looking rather pale, and the bruising around your eyes hints that you’ve been unwell. Headaches?” The Master asked.
“We’re not here to discuss my health,” Tom replied sharply.
“No, I somehow doubt you’re here for a social call. James Duncan, new king of Britain after the public rallied round him and called for Elizabeth to abdicate due to his stronger claims.” The Master said.
“That’s what the public know.” Tom confirmed.
“Tell me why I should be bothered?” The Master said, taking a sip of brandy. “I’ve never cared much for humanity.”
“Because if the intelligence we’ve gathered is true, it will affect you. Don’t forget, you’re trapped here.”
“As are you, Mr. Rowan.”
“I’m here through choice,” Tom snapped. “You, however, are incarcerated. I can walk out of here if I please and leave you to your fate.”
“I assume that the Doctor is nowhere to be seen, hence your presence here.” The Master retorted. “If I’m trapped on this planet then so are you.”
Tom’s lips twisted into a scowl. The Master had hit onto a sore spot, and they both knew it. “The Doctor is otherwise engaged,” he replied.
“That’s a yes, then,” the Master chuckled. “Oh dear, oh dear, Mr. Rowan, whatever did you do for him to abandon you like that?”
“As I said, the Doctor is indisposed at the moment,” Tom replied firmly.
“Very well, Mr. Rowan,” the Master smiled, “we’ll play it your way. I assume you want to know whether I know if Mr. Duncan’s claims are true, or whether or not I’m behind this.”
“I-” Tom began, fumbling over what he was going to say.
“Oh my dear Mr. Rowan,” the Master laughed. “One time innocent, I am as much behind the events that are transpiring as you are.”
“Yeah, well your track record doesn’t fill me with confidence, for some funny reason I don’t believe you,” Tom sneered.
“Well, I’m rather afraid you must,” the Master replied, sitting back and gently placing his fingers together. “Do you really think this whole convoluted scheme is my doing?”
“You, well,” Tom faltered and looked away as a surge of pain lanced through his eyes. His headache was getting worse.
“You weren’t sure, were you?” the Master asked as he leant forwards. “Are you quite sure you’re alright Mr. Rowan?”
“Yes,” Tom snapped, looking back at the Master, who sat back, holding his hands out in a placating manner. “Yes, I fine, thanks,” he muttered through gritted teeth.
“Then tell me,” the Master said spreading his hands, “why are you paying me this visit. Not that it’s not welcome, of course; I’m painfully low on visitors here.”
“My hearts bleed for you,” Tom sighed.
“This whole thing isn’t my style at all,” the Master said, taking another puff on his cigar before picking up the brandy and taking a sip. “So tell me, why have you come to visit me; the only other Time Lord on this spinning ball of dirt?”
“Alright,” Tom said before swallowing hard and allowing himself a moment to compose himself. “I can’t tell you everything, obviously, because of security reasons,”
“Obviously,” the Master smiled.
“And, well, I’m curious,” Tom admitted. “I don’t know everything about the history of Earth, and the monarchy systems were something that passed me by completely. I have no idea if the current monarch is meant to be Elizabeth the second, James the third or Dave the whatever.”
“Ah, so the Doctor has left Earth,” the Master chuckled. “And you want to carry on his noble crusade with my help, is that it?”
Tom winced slightly. “I just want to pick your brains about a few things, that’s all,” he said.
“My dear Mr. Rowan; I see no reason why I should help you in your little quest,” the Master sneered before sitting back and picking up his newspaper. “Thank you for your visit; good day.”
With a move that merely made the Master raise an eyebrow, Tom leant forwards and snatched the paper from him. “I told you, if we’ve, if I’ve got this right, it will affect you just as much as it will me. At least I’ll have a chance of getting off Earth and away from it all.”
The Master’s face broke into a wry smile as he nodded slightly. “Good, good,” he smiled. “It’s good to see that you are a man of principals, well done.”
“Does that mean I can count on your help?”
“Oh, I may offer it, as and when I choose, and maybe for the right price?” the Master replied.
“This isn’t open to negotiation,” Tom replied.
“And that’s where you’re falling down, Mr. Rowan,” the Master replied.
“I’m not gonna trade you information for your freedom,” Tom said making to get to his feet. “I have other means.”
“We both know you don’t have other means, please sit down,” the Master sighed. “I’ll hear you out.”
“Ok,” Tom replied, trying to mask his relief that the Master had agreed. “Well, you’ve probably guessed that I’ve got my doubts about the whole shebang with Duncan. And then there’s the whole thing with what the press have started to call the ‘Tower UFO’s’, and, well, I’ve kinda got this feeling.”
“Feeling?” the Master queried.
Shifting in his chair, Tom shifted his weight from one side to the other. “What I want to know from you know is; who should be the current monarch?”
“I do hope you’re not using me as a tool for a pub quiz?” the Master smiled. “Would I be right in thinking that our Mr Duncan is setting up blocks for your investigation and UNIT friends?”
“Did you know it’s rude to answer someone’s question with another question?” Tom retorted.
“Very well, Mr Rowan,” the Master chucked, picking up his brandy and cigar again. “I do not recall a King James the Third ascending to the throne at this time, in fact, Queen Elizabeth the second should remain on the British throne into the early decades of the twenty first century.”
“Thanks,” Tom said, his thoughts starting to race. “So do you think-?” he started before the Master cut him off by holding a hand up.
“I am correct in I disagreeumption as to why you have come to me?”
“I have hit a few snags with my investigation, yes,” Tom said, shifting uncomfortably again.
“Now, Mr. Rowan,” the Master smiled leaning forwards. “You know what I mean; where is the dear Doctor? Why isn’t he here for a gloat?”
“He’s otherwise detained,” Tom replied.
“Off Earth?”
“Yes, if you must know,” Tom snapped.
“Finally,” the Master smiled. “There, you see Mr. Rowan? You’re opening up and building some trust with me.”
Tom grimaced slightly. The one thing he didn’t really want to do was allow the Master access to his head. He may have been the only other Time Lord on Earth at that moment, but he wasn’t Tom’s first choice of companion.
“I’m only here because I need some information,” he finally said.
“Yes, so you’ve said,” the Master replied calmly. “And it’s clear that you’re unwell. Would you care to discuss it? I somehow doubt that any of the so called physicians on this primitive planet have the capacity to deal with a Time Lord.”
“I told you I’m not here to discuss my health with you,” Tom replied curtly.
“Well, if you ever feel the need,” the Master said with a police sweep of the room with his hand, “I am at your disposal.” Pausing, the Master leant forwards, “I’m not going anywhere,” he added with a smile.
“Yes,” Tom said slowly before collecting himself and getting to his feet. “Well, I know where you are if I need your, services shall we say, again.”
“Well, Mr. Rowan, it has been a pleasure,” the Master smiled getting to his feet and holding his hand out towards Tom.
“I wish I could say the same,” Tom replied, ignoring the Master’s offered hand and turning on his heel and walking out of the cell.
Watching him go, the Master pursed his lips and nodded to himself, before retrieving his news paper and sitting back down. He didn’t bother to look up when the door slid itself shut and locked with a heavy clicking sound.
*
His head pounding, Tom took his coat and hat from the half way office outside the corridor leading to the cell with hardly a word.
“Is everything alright, sir?” one of the guards asked, as he put his hat on.
“Yeah, fine,” he said faintly.
“We’ve had a message from Governor Crompton,” the guard continued. “He wants to see you before you leave.”
“Lucky me,” Tom sighed before turning to face the guard who had said it. “Thanks,” he added with a half smile. “If you’ll get them to open the door please?”
*
Sitting in his office, Kevin Crompton scratched his head as he tried to make sense of what the UNIT operative, Rowan, and the prisoner had been talking about. He was aware that some of their conversation was verging on near treason, or at least would be had James Duncan actually been crowned. In less than two weeks, he would be, and this kind of talk would most certainly get the strange Rowan a place in a cell nearby.
The conversation between Rowan and the Prisoner had been recorded, and as soon as Rowan had left the institute, Crompton would transcribe it and get it shipped to its destination. Normally, he wouldn’t bother with such trivial tasks, but due to the nature of the conversation, he wanted to make sure that no one who shouldn’t hear or read the material got their hands on it.
A knock at the door make his head snap up as it opened and Rowan walked in.
“You wanted to see me?” he asked.
“Yes, come in,” Crompton said, indicating for Rowan to sit in the chair on the opposite side of the desk.
“Well?” Rowan asked as he sat down and peered at a finger nail before putting it in his mouth and biting it.
“I was wondering,” Crompton said, adopting a casual tone. “Is this a fleeting visit or are you planning on visiting us more often?”
Rowan shrugged and looked at Crompton. There was something about the ice blue eyes that made him shudder. “It depends,” he replied after a while. “I may have to pop back to see the Master, I may not. But if I do, I’ll need access to him as it’s rather important. I would let you in, but, y’know, official secrets and all that.”
“Indeed,” Crompton said with a smile. If only you knew, he thought as he said it, feeling the smugness at knowing everything that had been said between the two men. “Well, if you do feel the need to pay us a visit again, feel free to, but do try to telephone ahead would you?”
“I’ll try,” Rowan replied in the same bored and insolent tone. “But like I said, if I need to have a chat with the Master, then I’ll need to have a chat with him. There’s a lot still to be uncovered and I think our little chats can eventually sort that.”
“Oh really?” Crompton asked, leaning forward on his desk.
“Yes, really,” Rowan replied. “As I said; official secrets and all that. But I will tell you this,” he added before leaning in conspiratorially, “if I pop in without calling ahead, I’ll still need to chat to him.”
“As I said, try to call ahead,” Crompton said, grimacing and sitting back.
“And I said; I’ll try.”
“May I ask what you need to see him about?”
Rowan pursed his lips and thoughtfully stroked his beard, causing Crompton to narrow his eyes. He’d seen the prisoner do the same before now whilst observing him reading the paper.
“You’re treating him pretty well; brandy and cigars? I wouldn’t have thought a terrorist would have received such comforts. He pay well?” Rowan asked, the right side of his mouth curling up in a smile.
“What are you implying Mr. Rowan?” Crompton asked outraged.
“Your boss,” Rowan replied with an air of innocence. “Y’know, guy in charge of this prison? I mean, brandy and cigars for a prisoner, and some of the stuff in his cell too, we’re talking luxury prison. I can see why he’s not tried to escape.”
“Hmm,” Crompton mused, narrowing his eyes to look at Rowan. “Well, thank you for your visit; I’m sure we’ll be seeing each other again soon.”
“I’m sure we will,” Rowan replied in the same tone of voice Crompton had used. “I’ll see myself out.”
Crompton watched Rowan depart, the anger still bubbling away in him. The young man was arrogant and insolent and showed no respect for his position. Getting to his feet, Crompton walked over to the surveillance controls and activated the screens. He brought up a picture of the reception area; a young woman was sitting in one of the chairs reading a glossy magazine. From her posture, clothes and hair style, Crompton could tell that she was military, most probably came with Rowan.
He watched as the doors in the top corner of the screen, which lead to the offices, slammed open and Rowan stormed out, his leather trench coat billowing melodramatically behind him. The young woman looked up as he approached and put the magazine down. He could see Rowans lips moving and wished that he’d installed audio devices in the reception. That would be the next thing he did.
*
“Well?” Loding asked as Tom approached.
“Outside,” he hissed, shooting a glance over his shoulder at Watson. “I think we should head back to HQ.”
Silently, the two left the building and headed to the small car park. Reaching the car, Loding unlocked it and opened the driver’s door, looking up when Tom opened the passenger door.
“You had a clear line of sight all the time, didn’t see anyone hovering around the car did you?” he asked as he sat down on the passenger seat.
“Erm, yeah, no one went near it,” Loding replied as she keyed the ignition.
“Good,” Tom said, glancing over his shoulder as the car drove down the drive. “I don’t trust them there.”
“What do you mean?”
“Something about Crompton,” Tom replied settling down. “He’s more than just an arse.”
“You think he’s bent?” Loding asked as she turned onto the main road.
“I dunno,” Tom replied. “He could be under the Master’s control, but I may just be wrong. I just feel like he’s got ulterior motives, like he wants to check up on me when it comes to my being there.”
*
As the black Mercedes drove away into the December morning, they were watched by the driver of a nondescript red Citroën. Waiting until they had set off down the road, the driver set off after them.
