Post by Fitz Kreiner on Sept 24, 2012 16:57:28 GMT
Jess sat up on the roof of the UNIT HQ, her feet over the edge of the air duct, as she looked out over the city. The late afternoon sun was glinting off the windows of high rise buildings and the noise and bustle of the traffic and shoppers below was just a faint background noise at this level.
A slight wind made her pull her jacket collar closer to her neck, her long raven hair flowing gently in the breeze. One thing Jess had asked of Tom before they got up to their “old tricks” as she had dubbed it, was to go get some new clothes. Not wanting to risk venturing into the cold and dead TARDIS, she had persuaded to drag him round some of the Camden shops.
Concern for her friend had caused her to twist his arm so she could keep a closer eye on him. She knew the Doctor was concerned, but she also knew there was another reason the Doctor was concerned, something she wasn’t privy too. Still, Tom had agreed readily, which she assumed was because he was just glad to see her and the Doctor back. However, his conversation had been slightly stunted and limited.
Jess brushed down the dark brown military style jacket and flexed her toes inside her new boots. They seemed sturdy enough for running down corridors, as she expected she would no doubt have to do sometime soon. She looked back over to Tom, who was lying on his back on the pebble-dashed roof. How he was comfortable there, she had no idea, but she still flashed him a smile as he glanced over to her.
“I don’t think he trusts me anymore,” he said suddenly.
“Who?” Jess asked, turning back to him.
“The Doc,” Tom replied, sitting up and moving into a cross legged position. “Ever since I told him about what happened. He seems a bit different about me.”
“He’s concerned,” Jess said, not exactly lying, “we both are. You’ve been acting a little out of it lately, well, lately to me. You never said anything about what happened when you were on the Drachnith ship. And I don’t pretend to know what you went through when we were on the Moon, but I worry about you. I care about you.”
Tom looked up at Jess and smiled back. Jess noticed a slight coldness to his eyes; they seemed to have lost a certain sparkle they used to have. As she looked down at her friend, she made a mental resolution that she would do all she could to get that sparkle back into his eyes.
“It can’t all be bad, can it?” she asked.
“Not now you’re back,” Tom said. “To be honest, I was getting tired and after the mess of the James Duncan thing, I was starting to wonder whether I was cracked up for all this anymore.”
“Course you are,” Jess said, feeling a wave of anxiety rush through her. “From what you said, you did really well, you can’t do it all. Not even the Doctor can do everything.”
“Yeah, but-” Tom started.
“Look,” Jess said, jumping down from the aluminium air vent and gesturing around the city. “This is still here because of you. Not many people can claim to have saved the planet on their own.”
“But it was the Master who did most of it,” Tom said. “His little plans in the back ground. I’m nothing without anyone to guide me or do the big work.”
“Oh shut up,” Jess said. “As if the Master would have managed it without you poking your nose in? You said that you were pretty much on the run from UNIT at the time; you were on your own doing what you do. That’s why the Doctor wanted us out of there and doing our own thing.”
“We’re not though,” Tom said. “You’ve been shopping then brought us up here.”
“Shopping helps me think,” Jess grinned. “And besides, I’d look as daft as the Doctor does if I started speaking to myself too. He’s bad enough when he does it.”
Tom’s smile broke into a small chuckle. “I think one mad person in the TARDIS is enough, eh?” he smiled.
“That’s my point,” Jess smiled back.
“Alright, Sherlock,” Tom smiled. “What’s the master plan?”
Jess closed her eyes for a second before opening them and fixing Tom with her most mischievous look and a wicked grin. “Follow me, Doctor Watson,” she said, grabbing Tom’s hand and made her way towards the roof access.
Simon Rutherford looked in amazement at the strange man who had entered the operations room with Staff Sergeant Lovatt. The man had long curly brown hair that bobbed round him as he dashed about. He was wearing a long purple velvet frock coat, dark grey trousers, blue and silver waistcoat and grey silk cravat, loosely tied around the open collar of a wing-collar shirt. In short, the man looked like he’d just left the scene of a wedding. All he was missing was the flower in the buttonhole.
The man had come in, introducing himself as a doctor and started bombarding Simon with questions as he dashed from console to console, checking readings and reports. Simon was also rather put out of place when the stranger had managed to log himself onto Simon’s email to check out the correspondence he had with some of the UNIT contacts around the globe. What really put Simon’s nose out of joint was the fact that the email system was supposed to be encrypted and no one was meant to be able to hack into it.
Simon shot a questioning look to Lovatt who merely replied with a “trust me,” and turned back to watch the man as he continued with his work. Watching him, Rutherford was bemused when the man started picking random components out of his pocket and attaching them together with a telescopic silver implement which glowed red at the end and emitted a high pitched noise. It was when the man started to pull apart a laptop that Rutherford had to interfere.
“Whoa, hang on there, pal,” he said, stepping forward. “That’s a brand new and expensive bit of kit you’re dismantling there.”
“Really?” the man asked, looking at it as though it were the first time he were seeing it.7
“Top of the range,” Rutherford said.
The man seemed to ignore him, looking around the room for something. Finally, he appeared to spot it and moved towards the network control box in the corner. Picking the silver tool from where he had placed it behind his ear, he succeeded in opening the Perspex cover and started pulling wires and Ethernet cables out of it and plugging them into the device he had constructed and started to wire into the cannibalised laptop.
“Hey, now, sorry pal, but I’m gonna have to ask you to stop that,” Rutherford said.
“Rutherford,” Lovatt warned.
“Sorry, Staff,” Rutherford said, “but this guy’s gonna cut us off completely if he carries on like this. That box has all our telecoms and internet connectivity in there.”
“Don’t worry, I’m very good at putting things back together again,” the Doctor smiled. “You should see me when I do Airfix kits and flat-pack furniture,” he finished with a broad grin.
“Yeah, but you’ve just completely cut us off,” Rutherford said, almost infuriated by the man’s flippancy.
“What would you rather?” the Doctor sighed, lowering his contraption and looking at Rutherford, “temporary lack of communications or an answer to what’s going on?”
“Well, erm,” Rutherford started.
“Exactly, Simon,” the Doctor smiled.
With a flourish, he pulled another component out of his pocket and plugged it into the network. Placing the laptop down on a desk, the Doctor skirted around the room tapping a code into the dos operating systems of each desktop computer, before returning to his starting point at the laptop.
“Something’s missing, something I’ve forgotten,” he muttered to himself.
“Doctor, I,” Lovatt started.
“Allison, are you any good at setting alarm clocks?” the Doctor asked, cocking his head to look at her.
“What?” she asked, taken aback by the question.
The Doctor fished in another pocket and pulled out an old alarm clock and cable. Plugging one end of the cable into the back of the laptop and prying off the back of the alarm clock, he pulled the other end off the cable. Tossing the clock to Lovatt before handing over the cable, the Doctor smiled.
“Attatch the black cable to the timing mechanism and the red to the hammer on the top,” he said as he dashed over to the radar monitor. “The one last piece of the puzzle,” he finished.
“Doctor,” Lovatt almost shouted in a voice that made the Time Lord stop and pay attention to her.
“Yes?” he asked as though it were the first time he saw her in the room.
“What do you want me to set the clock to?” Lovatt asked.
“Ah!” the Time Lord almost cried, smacking the palm of his hand against his forehead, “memory like a sieve.” Pausing, the Doctor pulled his pocket watch out of his waistcoat and checked it. “Four thirty,” he replied clipping the cover back in place.
Twisting the back of the clock, Lovatt placed the time piece down on the desk before her. “Now, perhaps you could tell me what it is you’ve done to our ops room?”
“It’s all very simple,” the Doctor replied without looking up. “By some rather careful and if I may say, clever, adaptions, I’ve managed to reconfigure your radar systems and link them into the local network and by extension, the world wide web in an effort to scan the electrical systems of the whole planet; at least until four thirty. And before you ask why; it’s so that I can scan for this so called computer virus, not only through your systems but all civilian and military networks around the globe.”
“You’ve just tapped into the entire planet’s defence network?” Rutherford asked, incredulously.
“In a manner of speaking,” the Doctor replied.
“But that’s insane,” Rutherford replied. “If that’s traced to us, then we could face the wrath of the entire world. The States won’t take kindly to someone just logging into their defence network.”
“Oh, I’m sure they’ll understand,” the Doctor smiled. “After all, it will help them in the long run, and besides; I’m rather a dab hand at all this, and the connection will be untraceable.”
Lovatt looked at the Doctor and raised an eyebrow.
“Well, eighty per cent,” he said softly. “Oh, ok, seventy five, tops. The fact of the matter is; what I’m doing should give me an insight into what’s going on here and that can’t be a bad thing, can it?”
“Are you sure?” Lovatt asked.
“That’s why I’ve put in the time limit,” the Doctor replied, checking his watch, “which gives me about thirty five minutes to work. So, if you don’t mind,” he finished sitting down at the laptop and flexing his fingers.
Carl Reynolds looked at the two young people stood on the other side of his desk. They had both presented identification cards for UNIT, the organisation who had come into the office earlier that day to question Reed about what he had seen down the tunnels. In fact, Reynolds recognised the young man as accompanying the Captain in the interview. As he recalled, he left the interview early in a rather bad mood. However, the girl was another matter. She had to be early twenties at most and with her raven hair and almost perfect features, she’d caught his eye.
“Sorry, what is it I can do for you both?” he asked, handing the ID badges back to the young girl and fixing her with what he hoped was his best smile.
“We’d like to explore the tunnel where your man from the transport police disappeared,” the girl said.
“You are aware that’s on one of the busiest stretches of line here?” Reynolds said. “We can’t just let any Tom, Dick or Harriet down there at will.”
“Well, I’m not any Tom, and this isn’t Harriet,” the man replied.
“Yes, very good,” Reynolds sighed.
“Look,” the girl continued. “We’ve got full permission from UNIT to explore and investigate here. This latest disappearance is just one in a long list we’re investigating and to block our investigation is an obstruction of the course of justice. You either let us explore down there, or you know full well what happened down there and therefore are a prime suspect in this case.”
“I beg your pardon?” Reynolds asked.
“You heard,” the girl said her face deadly serious. “We have full authority, and it’s an authority higher than the police.”
“Alright,” Reynolds sighed. “But I can’t let you down there right now; it’s coming up rush hour, I’m sure you can appreciate that. If you’d be so good as to wait until after eight o’clock, then I’ll be happy to escort you down there myself.”
“Thank you,” the man replied. “And in the meantime-?”
“In the meantime,” Reynolds said, “make yourselves at home. I can get you tea or coffee and will try to get someone from Wilkinsons’ BTP department down here to talk to you.”
“Aren’t we being a bit premature?” Morris asked.
Sat opposite him in his office was DI James Hammond of the Metropolitan police. Since September last year, Hammond had become the go-between between UNIT and the police following his involvement with the Auton attack. Since the disappearances had become high profile, Hammond had worked with Morris, bringing him information regarding the disappearances.
“Premature or not, Captain,” Hammond replied, “this girl has been reported missing.”
Morris sighed softly and glanced up at the wall clock; it read nineteen thirty-five. Looking back down he picked up the photograph of the latest disappearance; it was a young girl of fifteen, blonde highlighted hair.
“Alright, tell me more,” he said.
“Chelsea Halliday,” Hammond continued. “She was reported by her mother. Left to go out with her boyfriend Jason Cole and was due to return home for the evening meal at five this evening. She never showed.”
“She’s a kid,” Morris said. “You know what kids are, I’m sure you’ve had your fair share in your time in the force. I’d place money on the fact that the two have just got distracted and lost track of time.”
“Except that the mother had the boyfriends’ number and contacted him,” Hammond said. “Apparently the two had a fight and she stormed off.”
“Where was this?” Morris asked.
“Battersea Park,” Hammond replied. “I’ve had officers out with photo’s of her asking if anyone has seen her. The closest we’ve come is a family heard a girl yelling in the distance, sounding as though she was on the river bank path but that was it, they never thought anything of it. I’ve got river patrols searching up and down the Thames around Battersea and down river.”
“Sorry Hammond,” Morris said, rubbing his eyes, “but the more you say the more it sounds like a typical teenage tiff getting out of hand.”
“I know, but it’s my duty to investigate and take seriously all such reports. And what with the disappearances as they are, I don’t want to take any chances,” Hammond said.
“I really hope that this is the case,” Morris sighed. “This would make it the second reported disappearance in one day which could mean that they’re stepping up.”
“They,” Hammond asked, cocking his head and raising his eyebrows. “Is there something you’re keeping from me, Captain?”
“I’m speculating,” Morris said. “Just thinking over something my scientific advisor mentioned earlier.”
Hammond made a motion for Morris to continue.
“Just that, someone has to be behind these disappearances, especially with some of your guys and two of my agents disappearing during this investigation,” Morris mused.
“Well,” Hammond said, getting to his feet. “I’m not sure whether science will help us here, unless your guy’s a forensic genius, but I’ve got SOCO down where she was last seen.”
“He probably is that as well,” Morris muttered.
“Yes, well,” Hammond said, picking his jacket off the back of the chair. “I said I’d share the information with you, Captain.”
“If you don’t mind,” Morris said, getting to his feet himself, “I’ll accompany you. I’d like to have a chat with the boyfriend and mother.”
Private James Bailey sat back in the swivel chair and placed his feet up on the desk. He was supposed to be monitoring the CCTV camera monitors at the UNIT warehouse in Thamesmead, but Paul Thompson had brought a portably TV in for the big game. Thompson had already got up to make another pot of tea, disgruntled as United were three nil down.
Still, the evening shifts at the Thamesmead warehouse were always relatively easy; keep an eye on the monitors and do a patrol of the perimeter fence every hour.
The sound of the mugs of tea being stirred made Bailey turn round, rolling his eyes as the cheer from the TV made him spin back round. City were now four nil up and he’d missed the goal.
“That’s four nil now,” he called over his shoulder watching the action replay of the latest goal.
“You’re having a laugh,” Thompson said, appearing at the door, two mugs of tea in his hands. “Hang on, should that be happening?” he added, looking over Bailey at the bank of monitors.
“What?” Bailey asked turning round.
Behind him, two of the screens were starting to flicker, one already with static fuzzing across the screen. Turning to give the monitors his full attention, Bailey watched as three more crackled into static.
“Oh, nuts,” he breathed.
“You recon the cameras are on the blink?” Thompson asked.
“Shouldn’t be,” Bailey replied. “They were all checked the other day.”
“What do you recon?” Thompson asked again.
Bailey glanced back up at the monitors. Now over half of them were blank or filled with static. “This system is meant to be one of the best in the world,” he said, picking his gun belt off the desk where he’d put it. “Either someone very good has hacked it, or we’ve got intruders or something.”
It took the two privates less than five minutes to make it to the main warehouse and enter the lift. Bailey glanced over at Thompson; the younger man had only just been seconded to UNIT, Bailey on the other hand being old hat, having been in UNIT three years.
“You ok, kid?” he asked.
“Yeah,” Thompson said, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “What do you recon it is?”
“Dunno,” Bailey admitted. “But we’ll find out,” he added as the door slid open.
A low rumbling could be heard in the distance in the main store of the warehouse. The automatic lights were flickering, just as they did in old horror films.
“I don’t like this,” Bailey said, pulling a large torch from his belt and switching it on. The powerful light beam cut through the darkness, concrete dusk hung heavy in the air, emphasising the beam.
“What’s with all the dust?” Thompson asked, following Bailey as he walked down the corridor.
“Dunno,” Bailey replied. “It wasn’t like this yesterday. “Can you feel that?”
“I can hear it,” Thompson said before pausing, “No, wait, I can; a trembling. What is it; a tube train going by?”
“We’re not near any routes.” Bailey replied. “The closest we’re to is the river.”
“Yeah?” Thompson asked. “How close?”
“You know how close,” Bailey said, shooting Thompson a look.
The younger man was looking past Bailey and into the dark cavern that was the main warehouse. Bailey turned back the way he was walking to look into the warehouse. The torch light was reflecting off something on the floor; not only reflecting, but rippling. It was then Bailey realised what he was looking at; water. It was high tide and the warehouse was flooding.
“The rumbling’s stopped,” Thompson said.
“There’s something in there,” Bailey said, pointing the torch into the darkness. He looked down at the water; it was slowly creeping up the short stairs into the main store. That could only mean that the water level was rising, more water was coming in.
“How do you know?” Thompson whispered.
“Someone’s tunnelled in. Someone who knew this place was here.” Bailey stepped forwards flashing his torch through the warehouse. Long dark shadows danced on the walls. “Who’s in there?” he shouted into the dark. “You’re illegally trespassing on property held by the United Nations Intelligence Taskforce. Surrender immediately and it will look good on you.”
Only the sound of the water lapping at the stairs greeting him in reply, occasionally interspersed with the sound of something moving through the water in the distance. A loud crashing sound caused the two soldiers to jump involuntarily. With a glance towards each other, the two men splashed into the warehouse, the water coming to almost knee height, causing them to slow.
Not even minutes later, their dead bodies were brought back the way they had come from the tide of the water. Silence descended over the warehouse as the lighting died. The exterior lights in the warehouse complex began to flicker before a large explosion ripped through the main warehouse. Fire flashed along the concrete corridors in the lower levels, the heat trapped and incinerating everything it touched. The heavy ceiling of the main store was ripped as though it were wet tissue paper, flames catching on to anything they touched.
In the surrounding area of Thamesmead, the shockwave of the explosion caused many car and building alarms to activate. The cacophony of the noise and the raging inferno in the warehouse distracted both the emergency services and UNIT whilst deep below the surface of the Thames, dark shapes slowly moved off with what they had taken from the warehouse.
A slight wind made her pull her jacket collar closer to her neck, her long raven hair flowing gently in the breeze. One thing Jess had asked of Tom before they got up to their “old tricks” as she had dubbed it, was to go get some new clothes. Not wanting to risk venturing into the cold and dead TARDIS, she had persuaded to drag him round some of the Camden shops.
Concern for her friend had caused her to twist his arm so she could keep a closer eye on him. She knew the Doctor was concerned, but she also knew there was another reason the Doctor was concerned, something she wasn’t privy too. Still, Tom had agreed readily, which she assumed was because he was just glad to see her and the Doctor back. However, his conversation had been slightly stunted and limited.
Jess brushed down the dark brown military style jacket and flexed her toes inside her new boots. They seemed sturdy enough for running down corridors, as she expected she would no doubt have to do sometime soon. She looked back over to Tom, who was lying on his back on the pebble-dashed roof. How he was comfortable there, she had no idea, but she still flashed him a smile as he glanced over to her.
“I don’t think he trusts me anymore,” he said suddenly.
“Who?” Jess asked, turning back to him.
“The Doc,” Tom replied, sitting up and moving into a cross legged position. “Ever since I told him about what happened. He seems a bit different about me.”
“He’s concerned,” Jess said, not exactly lying, “we both are. You’ve been acting a little out of it lately, well, lately to me. You never said anything about what happened when you were on the Drachnith ship. And I don’t pretend to know what you went through when we were on the Moon, but I worry about you. I care about you.”
Tom looked up at Jess and smiled back. Jess noticed a slight coldness to his eyes; they seemed to have lost a certain sparkle they used to have. As she looked down at her friend, she made a mental resolution that she would do all she could to get that sparkle back into his eyes.
“It can’t all be bad, can it?” she asked.
“Not now you’re back,” Tom said. “To be honest, I was getting tired and after the mess of the James Duncan thing, I was starting to wonder whether I was cracked up for all this anymore.”
“Course you are,” Jess said, feeling a wave of anxiety rush through her. “From what you said, you did really well, you can’t do it all. Not even the Doctor can do everything.”
“Yeah, but-” Tom started.
“Look,” Jess said, jumping down from the aluminium air vent and gesturing around the city. “This is still here because of you. Not many people can claim to have saved the planet on their own.”
“But it was the Master who did most of it,” Tom said. “His little plans in the back ground. I’m nothing without anyone to guide me or do the big work.”
“Oh shut up,” Jess said. “As if the Master would have managed it without you poking your nose in? You said that you were pretty much on the run from UNIT at the time; you were on your own doing what you do. That’s why the Doctor wanted us out of there and doing our own thing.”
“We’re not though,” Tom said. “You’ve been shopping then brought us up here.”
“Shopping helps me think,” Jess grinned. “And besides, I’d look as daft as the Doctor does if I started speaking to myself too. He’s bad enough when he does it.”
Tom’s smile broke into a small chuckle. “I think one mad person in the TARDIS is enough, eh?” he smiled.
“That’s my point,” Jess smiled back.
“Alright, Sherlock,” Tom smiled. “What’s the master plan?”
Jess closed her eyes for a second before opening them and fixing Tom with her most mischievous look and a wicked grin. “Follow me, Doctor Watson,” she said, grabbing Tom’s hand and made her way towards the roof access.
*
Simon Rutherford looked in amazement at the strange man who had entered the operations room with Staff Sergeant Lovatt. The man had long curly brown hair that bobbed round him as he dashed about. He was wearing a long purple velvet frock coat, dark grey trousers, blue and silver waistcoat and grey silk cravat, loosely tied around the open collar of a wing-collar shirt. In short, the man looked like he’d just left the scene of a wedding. All he was missing was the flower in the buttonhole.
The man had come in, introducing himself as a doctor and started bombarding Simon with questions as he dashed from console to console, checking readings and reports. Simon was also rather put out of place when the stranger had managed to log himself onto Simon’s email to check out the correspondence he had with some of the UNIT contacts around the globe. What really put Simon’s nose out of joint was the fact that the email system was supposed to be encrypted and no one was meant to be able to hack into it.
Simon shot a questioning look to Lovatt who merely replied with a “trust me,” and turned back to watch the man as he continued with his work. Watching him, Rutherford was bemused when the man started picking random components out of his pocket and attaching them together with a telescopic silver implement which glowed red at the end and emitted a high pitched noise. It was when the man started to pull apart a laptop that Rutherford had to interfere.
“Whoa, hang on there, pal,” he said, stepping forward. “That’s a brand new and expensive bit of kit you’re dismantling there.”
“Really?” the man asked, looking at it as though it were the first time he were seeing it.7
“Top of the range,” Rutherford said.
The man seemed to ignore him, looking around the room for something. Finally, he appeared to spot it and moved towards the network control box in the corner. Picking the silver tool from where he had placed it behind his ear, he succeeded in opening the Perspex cover and started pulling wires and Ethernet cables out of it and plugging them into the device he had constructed and started to wire into the cannibalised laptop.
“Hey, now, sorry pal, but I’m gonna have to ask you to stop that,” Rutherford said.
“Rutherford,” Lovatt warned.
“Sorry, Staff,” Rutherford said, “but this guy’s gonna cut us off completely if he carries on like this. That box has all our telecoms and internet connectivity in there.”
“Don’t worry, I’m very good at putting things back together again,” the Doctor smiled. “You should see me when I do Airfix kits and flat-pack furniture,” he finished with a broad grin.
“Yeah, but you’ve just completely cut us off,” Rutherford said, almost infuriated by the man’s flippancy.
“What would you rather?” the Doctor sighed, lowering his contraption and looking at Rutherford, “temporary lack of communications or an answer to what’s going on?”
“Well, erm,” Rutherford started.
“Exactly, Simon,” the Doctor smiled.
With a flourish, he pulled another component out of his pocket and plugged it into the network. Placing the laptop down on a desk, the Doctor skirted around the room tapping a code into the dos operating systems of each desktop computer, before returning to his starting point at the laptop.
“Something’s missing, something I’ve forgotten,” he muttered to himself.
“Doctor, I,” Lovatt started.
“Allison, are you any good at setting alarm clocks?” the Doctor asked, cocking his head to look at her.
“What?” she asked, taken aback by the question.
The Doctor fished in another pocket and pulled out an old alarm clock and cable. Plugging one end of the cable into the back of the laptop and prying off the back of the alarm clock, he pulled the other end off the cable. Tossing the clock to Lovatt before handing over the cable, the Doctor smiled.
“Attatch the black cable to the timing mechanism and the red to the hammer on the top,” he said as he dashed over to the radar monitor. “The one last piece of the puzzle,” he finished.
“Doctor,” Lovatt almost shouted in a voice that made the Time Lord stop and pay attention to her.
“Yes?” he asked as though it were the first time he saw her in the room.
“What do you want me to set the clock to?” Lovatt asked.
“Ah!” the Time Lord almost cried, smacking the palm of his hand against his forehead, “memory like a sieve.” Pausing, the Doctor pulled his pocket watch out of his waistcoat and checked it. “Four thirty,” he replied clipping the cover back in place.
Twisting the back of the clock, Lovatt placed the time piece down on the desk before her. “Now, perhaps you could tell me what it is you’ve done to our ops room?”
“It’s all very simple,” the Doctor replied without looking up. “By some rather careful and if I may say, clever, adaptions, I’ve managed to reconfigure your radar systems and link them into the local network and by extension, the world wide web in an effort to scan the electrical systems of the whole planet; at least until four thirty. And before you ask why; it’s so that I can scan for this so called computer virus, not only through your systems but all civilian and military networks around the globe.”
“You’ve just tapped into the entire planet’s defence network?” Rutherford asked, incredulously.
“In a manner of speaking,” the Doctor replied.
“But that’s insane,” Rutherford replied. “If that’s traced to us, then we could face the wrath of the entire world. The States won’t take kindly to someone just logging into their defence network.”
“Oh, I’m sure they’ll understand,” the Doctor smiled. “After all, it will help them in the long run, and besides; I’m rather a dab hand at all this, and the connection will be untraceable.”
Lovatt looked at the Doctor and raised an eyebrow.
“Well, eighty per cent,” he said softly. “Oh, ok, seventy five, tops. The fact of the matter is; what I’m doing should give me an insight into what’s going on here and that can’t be a bad thing, can it?”
“Are you sure?” Lovatt asked.
“That’s why I’ve put in the time limit,” the Doctor replied, checking his watch, “which gives me about thirty five minutes to work. So, if you don’t mind,” he finished sitting down at the laptop and flexing his fingers.
*
Carl Reynolds looked at the two young people stood on the other side of his desk. They had both presented identification cards for UNIT, the organisation who had come into the office earlier that day to question Reed about what he had seen down the tunnels. In fact, Reynolds recognised the young man as accompanying the Captain in the interview. As he recalled, he left the interview early in a rather bad mood. However, the girl was another matter. She had to be early twenties at most and with her raven hair and almost perfect features, she’d caught his eye.
“Sorry, what is it I can do for you both?” he asked, handing the ID badges back to the young girl and fixing her with what he hoped was his best smile.
“We’d like to explore the tunnel where your man from the transport police disappeared,” the girl said.
“You are aware that’s on one of the busiest stretches of line here?” Reynolds said. “We can’t just let any Tom, Dick or Harriet down there at will.”
“Well, I’m not any Tom, and this isn’t Harriet,” the man replied.
“Yes, very good,” Reynolds sighed.
“Look,” the girl continued. “We’ve got full permission from UNIT to explore and investigate here. This latest disappearance is just one in a long list we’re investigating and to block our investigation is an obstruction of the course of justice. You either let us explore down there, or you know full well what happened down there and therefore are a prime suspect in this case.”
“I beg your pardon?” Reynolds asked.
“You heard,” the girl said her face deadly serious. “We have full authority, and it’s an authority higher than the police.”
“Alright,” Reynolds sighed. “But I can’t let you down there right now; it’s coming up rush hour, I’m sure you can appreciate that. If you’d be so good as to wait until after eight o’clock, then I’ll be happy to escort you down there myself.”
“Thank you,” the man replied. “And in the meantime-?”
“In the meantime,” Reynolds said, “make yourselves at home. I can get you tea or coffee and will try to get someone from Wilkinsons’ BTP department down here to talk to you.”
*
“Aren’t we being a bit premature?” Morris asked.
Sat opposite him in his office was DI James Hammond of the Metropolitan police. Since September last year, Hammond had become the go-between between UNIT and the police following his involvement with the Auton attack. Since the disappearances had become high profile, Hammond had worked with Morris, bringing him information regarding the disappearances.
“Premature or not, Captain,” Hammond replied, “this girl has been reported missing.”
Morris sighed softly and glanced up at the wall clock; it read nineteen thirty-five. Looking back down he picked up the photograph of the latest disappearance; it was a young girl of fifteen, blonde highlighted hair.
“Alright, tell me more,” he said.
“Chelsea Halliday,” Hammond continued. “She was reported by her mother. Left to go out with her boyfriend Jason Cole and was due to return home for the evening meal at five this evening. She never showed.”
“She’s a kid,” Morris said. “You know what kids are, I’m sure you’ve had your fair share in your time in the force. I’d place money on the fact that the two have just got distracted and lost track of time.”
“Except that the mother had the boyfriends’ number and contacted him,” Hammond said. “Apparently the two had a fight and she stormed off.”
“Where was this?” Morris asked.
“Battersea Park,” Hammond replied. “I’ve had officers out with photo’s of her asking if anyone has seen her. The closest we’ve come is a family heard a girl yelling in the distance, sounding as though she was on the river bank path but that was it, they never thought anything of it. I’ve got river patrols searching up and down the Thames around Battersea and down river.”
“Sorry Hammond,” Morris said, rubbing his eyes, “but the more you say the more it sounds like a typical teenage tiff getting out of hand.”
“I know, but it’s my duty to investigate and take seriously all such reports. And what with the disappearances as they are, I don’t want to take any chances,” Hammond said.
“I really hope that this is the case,” Morris sighed. “This would make it the second reported disappearance in one day which could mean that they’re stepping up.”
“They,” Hammond asked, cocking his head and raising his eyebrows. “Is there something you’re keeping from me, Captain?”
“I’m speculating,” Morris said. “Just thinking over something my scientific advisor mentioned earlier.”
Hammond made a motion for Morris to continue.
“Just that, someone has to be behind these disappearances, especially with some of your guys and two of my agents disappearing during this investigation,” Morris mused.
“Well,” Hammond said, getting to his feet. “I’m not sure whether science will help us here, unless your guy’s a forensic genius, but I’ve got SOCO down where she was last seen.”
“He probably is that as well,” Morris muttered.
“Yes, well,” Hammond said, picking his jacket off the back of the chair. “I said I’d share the information with you, Captain.”
“If you don’t mind,” Morris said, getting to his feet himself, “I’ll accompany you. I’d like to have a chat with the boyfriend and mother.”
*
Private James Bailey sat back in the swivel chair and placed his feet up on the desk. He was supposed to be monitoring the CCTV camera monitors at the UNIT warehouse in Thamesmead, but Paul Thompson had brought a portably TV in for the big game. Thompson had already got up to make another pot of tea, disgruntled as United were three nil down.
Still, the evening shifts at the Thamesmead warehouse were always relatively easy; keep an eye on the monitors and do a patrol of the perimeter fence every hour.
The sound of the mugs of tea being stirred made Bailey turn round, rolling his eyes as the cheer from the TV made him spin back round. City were now four nil up and he’d missed the goal.
“That’s four nil now,” he called over his shoulder watching the action replay of the latest goal.
“You’re having a laugh,” Thompson said, appearing at the door, two mugs of tea in his hands. “Hang on, should that be happening?” he added, looking over Bailey at the bank of monitors.
“What?” Bailey asked turning round.
Behind him, two of the screens were starting to flicker, one already with static fuzzing across the screen. Turning to give the monitors his full attention, Bailey watched as three more crackled into static.
“Oh, nuts,” he breathed.
“You recon the cameras are on the blink?” Thompson asked.
“Shouldn’t be,” Bailey replied. “They were all checked the other day.”
“What do you recon?” Thompson asked again.
Bailey glanced back up at the monitors. Now over half of them were blank or filled with static. “This system is meant to be one of the best in the world,” he said, picking his gun belt off the desk where he’d put it. “Either someone very good has hacked it, or we’ve got intruders or something.”
It took the two privates less than five minutes to make it to the main warehouse and enter the lift. Bailey glanced over at Thompson; the younger man had only just been seconded to UNIT, Bailey on the other hand being old hat, having been in UNIT three years.
“You ok, kid?” he asked.
“Yeah,” Thompson said, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “What do you recon it is?”
“Dunno,” Bailey admitted. “But we’ll find out,” he added as the door slid open.
A low rumbling could be heard in the distance in the main store of the warehouse. The automatic lights were flickering, just as they did in old horror films.
“I don’t like this,” Bailey said, pulling a large torch from his belt and switching it on. The powerful light beam cut through the darkness, concrete dusk hung heavy in the air, emphasising the beam.
“What’s with all the dust?” Thompson asked, following Bailey as he walked down the corridor.
“Dunno,” Bailey replied. “It wasn’t like this yesterday. “Can you feel that?”
“I can hear it,” Thompson said before pausing, “No, wait, I can; a trembling. What is it; a tube train going by?”
“We’re not near any routes.” Bailey replied. “The closest we’re to is the river.”
“Yeah?” Thompson asked. “How close?”
“You know how close,” Bailey said, shooting Thompson a look.
The younger man was looking past Bailey and into the dark cavern that was the main warehouse. Bailey turned back the way he was walking to look into the warehouse. The torch light was reflecting off something on the floor; not only reflecting, but rippling. It was then Bailey realised what he was looking at; water. It was high tide and the warehouse was flooding.
“The rumbling’s stopped,” Thompson said.
“There’s something in there,” Bailey said, pointing the torch into the darkness. He looked down at the water; it was slowly creeping up the short stairs into the main store. That could only mean that the water level was rising, more water was coming in.
“How do you know?” Thompson whispered.
“Someone’s tunnelled in. Someone who knew this place was here.” Bailey stepped forwards flashing his torch through the warehouse. Long dark shadows danced on the walls. “Who’s in there?” he shouted into the dark. “You’re illegally trespassing on property held by the United Nations Intelligence Taskforce. Surrender immediately and it will look good on you.”
Only the sound of the water lapping at the stairs greeting him in reply, occasionally interspersed with the sound of something moving through the water in the distance. A loud crashing sound caused the two soldiers to jump involuntarily. With a glance towards each other, the two men splashed into the warehouse, the water coming to almost knee height, causing them to slow.
Not even minutes later, their dead bodies were brought back the way they had come from the tide of the water. Silence descended over the warehouse as the lighting died. The exterior lights in the warehouse complex began to flicker before a large explosion ripped through the main warehouse. Fire flashed along the concrete corridors in the lower levels, the heat trapped and incinerating everything it touched. The heavy ceiling of the main store was ripped as though it were wet tissue paper, flames catching on to anything they touched.
In the surrounding area of Thamesmead, the shockwave of the explosion caused many car and building alarms to activate. The cacophony of the noise and the raging inferno in the warehouse distracted both the emergency services and UNIT whilst deep below the surface of the Thames, dark shapes slowly moved off with what they had taken from the warehouse.
