Doctor Who: The Sea-Devils (13 page)

Trenchard came closer to look at the box. ‘Make it work.’

The. Master seemed reluctant. ‘If you wish.’ He switched over the on/off control. The box emitted a series of regular bleeping sounds for ten seconds, then went silent.

‘I suppose you know what you’re doing,’ said Trenchard, not very impressed with the demonstration. ‘Like having a dog whistle—’ As he spoke, the box emitted a quite different series of bleeps. ‘What was that?’

The Master quickly switched back the on/off control. ‘Some random feedback. I really do need to get on with my work, Mr. Trenchard...’

‘That was a message,’ accused Trenchard. ‘You were receiving a message.’

The Master smiled. ‘Well, if it was, it wasn’t in any code that I’ve ever heard before.’

‘Switch that thing on again,’ said Trenchard.

The Master looked at him, and kept up his friendly smile. ‘Whatever for?’

‘You sent out a signal—’

‘That’s right,’ said the Master, cutting in. ‘As you said, it’s like having a dog whistle.’

‘Please don’t interrupt me,’ said Trenchard, as politely as he could manage. ‘You sent out a signal, and someone, or some
thing
, replied. Why won’t you switch it on again?’

‘Are you distrusting me, Mr. Trenchard? I thought we were friends, working together to save this country of yours.’

‘I shall repeat my request,’ said Trenchard. ‘Please switch that thing on again.’

‘If you insist.’ The Master switched over the on/off switch. Again the box emitted a series of regular bleeping sounds for ten seconds then went silent. Immediately, the Master turned it off. ‘There you are. Satisfied?’

‘I’m very unsatisfied,’ replied Trenchard. ‘You should have left it on.’

‘Have to care for the batteries,’ said the Master. ‘I don’t want to waste them in a series of useless experiments.’ He smiled again. ‘Now do you think that I might be allowed to get on with my work?’

Trenchard backed to the door. ‘Certainly. We shall talk again soon.’ He rapped on the door and the prison officer outside opened it. He urgently wanted to get to a telephone, to tell his superiors what he now believed to be the truth, and to offer his resignation.

Back in his office Trenchard unlocked the little padlock on his outside-line telephone and dialled a London number. He was convinced that what he had heard from the Master’s so-called calling device was no ‘random feedback’. It was a message, a response to the signal that the Master was transmitting. And that could only mean that the Master and these intelligent lizards were allies.

A telephonist at the Ministry answered him and took her time putting him through to the Minister’s secretary.

‘I need to speak to the Minister,’ he said, ‘urgently?

‘Who is that?’ said the girl’s voice.

‘George Trenchard,’ he said, ‘Prison Governor.’

‘Does the Minister know you?’ queried the voice.

Trenchard winced at the question. ‘He doesn’t know me personally,’ he answered truthfully, ‘but indirectly he employs me.’ It was extraordinary that the secretary of the Minister had never heard of him.

‘I see,’ said the girl. ‘Which prison?’

He knew that the girl would not recognise the name given to his one-man prison even if he gave it, so he said: ‘The prison that contains the Master. Now will you please put me through to the Minister. It’s a matter of life and death.’

‘Hold on,’ said the girl’s voice.

While he waited, his mind turned back to what might happen to him once he had confessed his intrigue with the Master...

The girl’s voice was speaking again. ‘The Minister says he is very sorry, but he’s busy. Is there anything wrong with the Master?’

Trenchard almost put the ’phone down without answering. Clearly the Minister’s only interest was the Master, because the Master was a big name and had been in all the newspapers.

‘The Master is very well,’ said Trenchard. ‘The matter of life and death happens to concern the nation.’

‘Well, the Minister’s very busy,’ said the girl. ‘Could you write to us about it?’

‘Yes,’ said Trenchard, with a touch of heavy sarcasm, ‘I shall write to you about it.’

‘If you send it by first-class post,’ the girl said, ‘we should get it tomorrow morning, and I’ll put it on the Minister’s desk straight away.’

‘Thank you,’ said Trenchard. ‘Have you ever thought of living in a country controlled by lizards?’

‘Have I what?’ said the girl, indicating by the tone of her voice that Trenchard was being cheeky.

‘It doesn’t matter,’ said Trenchard. ‘Thank you for being so helpful.’

He put down the ’phone, and thoughtfully replaced its little padlock according to prison rules. He considered telephoning Captain John Hart, to tell him everything. But he already felt too much of a fool. It was one thing to confess to a Minister of State, but he could not bring himself to confess to a personal friend.

As though to remind himself of what a fool he had been, he opened the big oak doors that covered the television monitor and switched on. The Master was concentrating on his infernal black box, busily sending and receiving messages. There was now no question in Trenchard’s mind that those strange responding sounds were signals being sent to the Master. At least, Trenchard told himself, he could put a stop to that right away. The black box must be impounded and destroyed.

He knew he could not do it himself. If he went down to the Master’s room to take the box away, the Master would talk him out of it, or make him feel foolish again. He decided to send his chief prison officer to get the box, and then he would personally destroy it. Thus decided, he lifted his internal ’phone and pressed the button for the chief prison officer’s extension. There was no reply. He tried another extension: again no reply. He tried the gatehouse extension, because there was always someone on duty there. Again he could hear the extension ringing, but there was no response. He went back to the television monitor and turned the control knob that would bring into action other television eyes in different parts of the château. To his horror he saw a picture on the screen of Prison Officer Snellgrove lying on his back in a corridor, eyes wide open. He turned the control knob again and cut to the television eye in the prison officers’ mess. Three officers were sprawled across the main dining table and another was slouched on the floor against the wall. He turned the knob once more, and brought in the television eye in the Master’s room. The door of the room seemed to be on fire. Through the flames and smoke stepped a Sea-Devil. The Master rose to greet it.

Trenchard knew that everything he feared was true. The Master had not only made a complete fool of him, but the Master’s ‘friends’ had murdered all his staff. He felt in his pocket and found the little key to his desk, opened a desk drawer and took out the old Army revolver that he had kept there since his days in the Army. He checked that it was fully loaded.

As a child Trenchard was often told how his great-great grandfather died. It was during the Indian Mutiny and Major Wilfred Trenchard was the last man left alive in a besieged Army barracks. Knowing that there was no escape, and that the mob outside killed anyone who tried to be taken prisoner, the Major loaded his gun, went outside and shot dead four mutineers before he himself was cut to pieces.

This was what Trenchard must now do. It was his last chance to prove that he was not a failure, and that he was a worthy son of his good family name. He had failed many times in his life, but on this occasion he was going to succeed, even though it meant going down fighting. To give himself a little more courage he recalled that the lizards on the beach were not very fast moving. There were six bullets in his revolver, and with luck he might bag six of these creatures before they knew what was happening and turned on him. His final act of bravery and ability would be written up in the newspapers, and if these lizards were going to try to invade England, George Trenchard would be remembered as the first man, the first soldier, who had really tried to stop them. A grateful Government might even put up a little plaque on the outside of the château, over the front door, to remind people that Trenchard had lived, and heroically died, there.

With these thoughts of being remembered as a courageous man of action, Trenchard opened the door to leave his office. To his horror a Sea-Devil was standing directly outside. Trenchard raised his revolver and tried to pull the trigger. Nothing happened. The Sea-Devil raised its raygun: it flared a brilliant red. Trenchard felt a sudden heat rush through his entire body, choking and blinding him. In his last moment of life he realised that he had forgotten to turn the safety catch of his revolver. Then he fell dead.

It took the Doctor and Jo several hours to get back from the minefield to the Naval Base. Once through the mines, they still had to keep under cover in case the prison officers came hunting for them. All told, they walked a good ten miles to return to HMS
Foxglove
. Captain Hart listened patiently to their story, but when they had finished he said:

‘I’m sorry, but I don’t believe a word of it!’

‘Captain Hart,’ said Jo, nursing one of her sore feet, ‘we haven’t walked ten miles to tell you a fairy story.’

‘Do you seriously expect me to believe in monsters walking upright and coming out of the sea?’ said the captain.

‘Ask your friend, Mr. Trenchard,’ said the Doctor. ‘He saw them. At the same time, you might ask him why he tried to hold us prisoner.’

‘I think that I’ve already troubled Mr. Trenchard quite enough,’ said the captain. ‘Because you claimed that his prisoner was on the loose I went along to the château and saw him with my own eyes. A man, manacled hand and foot, does not have much opportunity to go masquerading as a naval officer, you know.’

‘Manacled hand and foot?’ said the Doctor. ‘The Master lives in considerable comfort, despite his confinement. What sort of room was he in?’

The captain described the cramped little windowless cell, and repeated that the Master appeared to be chained to the wall.

‘They did that to fool you!’ said Jo. ‘You may be an important man in your Navy, but to me you’re just stupid!’

‘I must apologise for my young companion,’ said the Doctor quickly, before Captain Hart exploded in wrath. ‘I think her feet are hurting her.’

‘If what you tell me is true,’ said Captain Hart; ‘Mr. Trenchard is in a conspiracy.’

‘That,’ said the Doctor, ‘is the thrust of our argument.’

The ’phone rang and Captain Hart answered it. He seemed most perturbed by what the caller was telling him. He replaced the receiver and turned back to the Doctor. ‘I think this may interest you, Doctor. I despatched a submarine to investigate the sea-bed near to the oil-rig—’

‘That’s about the first sensible thing you’ve done!’ said Jo.

The Doctor signalled for Jo to keep quiet. ‘Let the captain finish what he has to say, Jo.’

‘It hasn’t reported back,’ Captain Hart continued. ‘But it’s just been spotted by radar heading for the château.’

‘How can your people tell that it’s the submarine?’ Jo asked. ‘One spot on a radar screen looks very like another.’

‘A very bright observation, Miss Grant,’ said the captain. ‘But you can tell that a blip is a submarine if it suddenly appears on the radar screen. It means that it’s just come to the surface.’

‘That’s clever,’ said Jo.

‘Thank you,’ said Captain Hart. ‘You see, we aren’t all stupid in the Navy.’ Having made his point he turned back to the Doctor. ‘As I said, it’s heading for the château. How would you like to accompany me there?’

The Doctor got to his feet. ‘Does this mean you’re starting to believe us, Captain Hart?’

Captain Hart put on his cap. ‘Let’s see what George Trenchard has to say. Then I’ll make up my mind as to whom I believe, Are you ready, Miss Grant?’

Jo put on her shoes again and followed the captain and the Doctor as they left the office.

The Doctor, Jo and Captain Hart waited at the big gates to the grounds of the chateau. There had been no answer to the bell and the captain had sent his driver back to the Naval Base to get an explosive charge.

‘We could get in,’ said the Doctor, ‘by way of the shore.’

‘If the captain doesn’t mind going through a minefield,’ Jo added.

Captain Hart was grim-faced and in no mood for jokes. All the lights in the château were blazing, something he had never seen before, and even from this distance he could see that the great front door was standing wide open. It was unbelieveable that no prison officers had come from the gatehouse to answer the bell on the front gate. ‘We shall go in this way,’ he said. ‘Even at the risk of damaging Government property.’

The captain’s Jeep came racing back from the Naval Base. As well as the driver, there were now two petty officers, both explosives experts; they had primers and charges with them.

‘Those gates,’ said the captain. ‘Blow them open.’

The two P.O.s fixed charges to the lock on the gates, then attached wires and uncoiled them from big drums. Everyone stood well back, sheltering behind the Jeep, as the charges were blown. The gates swung open.

A minute later they were all inside the château and Captain Hart was contemplating Trenchard’s body. The Doctor had immediately rushed to the Master’s room, and now returned to report that it was empty. The jeep’s driver and the two petty officers reported finding dead prison officers in many parts of the château.

Captain Hart turned to the Doctor. ‘If what you say is true, why did George Trenchard help the Master?’

‘What would you say was Trenchard’s strongest characteristic?’ the Doctor replied.

Hart shrugged. ‘I don’t know. Perhaps patriotism, love of country.’

‘Exactly,’ agreed the Doctor. ‘My guess is that the Master utilised that in some way.’ He kneeled down to examine Trenchard’s body, to see if he had been killed the same way as the man on the oil-rig.

‘Anyway,’ said Hart, ‘he’s gone now. But he’s still got his gun in his hand. At least he went down fighting.’

The Doctor looked at the revolver clutched in Trenchard’s hand, and noticed that the safety catch was still in position. Unseen by Captain Hart, the Doctor turned the safety catch so that no one would ever know about Trenchard’s last fatal mistake. ‘Yes,’ he said, ‘he was a brave man.’