Sound flooded the car. A burst of noise uncannily similar to the rhythm they had just listened to. Rat-a-tat-tat. Burr...
'What -' Wayne tried to turn his head towards the back seat, but the windscreen and upholstery that surrounded him was already splashed with red.
Another roar of sound, and his shattered body jerked on to the steering wheel.
Eight minutes later Darren returned to the car with four Kam Ming takeaway curries in a carrier bag. People swarmed around the vehicle, shouting and screaming. He dropped the bag in the gutter, and pushed his way to the front. Inside the car were the bodies of his friends and the remains of his bullet-ridden lager can, still gently weeping its contents on to the bloodstained seats.
The question surprised the Doctor.
'I'm sorry?' he asked.
'I said, how many of these coins make one pound ten pence?'
The Doctor looked up from his coffee at the girl with the American accent. She held out a handful of coins to him with a disarming smile.
'That one, and that one,' the Doctor said. 'I'm afraid most of the meals in here are quite expensive.' He gestured towards the display above the counter. 'And full of animal fat. I'd avoid them if I were you.'
'Oh, it's for a phone call,' said the girl, sitting down beside the Doctor. 'I want to let a friend know that I've arrived. Hi, I'm Lisa.'
'How do you do?' said the Doctor. 'And you've reminded me: I must make a phone call to a friend of my own. She'll be very worried, no doubt.'
'You run away from home?' asked Lisa with a mischievous grin.
'Something like that,' said the Doctor. He stood and pushed the coffee cup towards the girl. 'You can have it if you like. I thought I wanted this, but in the end I didn't. Isn't that often the way with things?'
'Ugh, no thanks,' said Lisa, wrinkling her nose. 'I hate coffee. And, anyway, I thought you guys drank tea.'
The Doctor smiled. 'I must be going.'
'Tell your friend I said not to worry,' said the girl. 'You can look after yourself all right.'
'Yes,' said the Doctor. 'And so can she.' There was an anxious edge in his voice. 'Usually.' He tipped his hat to the girl, who gave him a little wave.
The Doctor stepped out of the fast-food restaurant, and into the sticky and uncomfortable evening air. As he walked from Tottenham Court Road to Charing Cross Road, unanswered questions clouded his mind. He had hoped to use Shanks, to help the man rid himself of what he'd learnt and experienced at Hexen Bridge. Shanks was an outsider, after all. But the Doctor had failed: the taint was too strong.
Shanks had died while blindly protecting Hatch. All the metaphorical and literal roads the Doctor trod seemed to lead from Hexen Bridge to the politician. For all Denman's cynicism, the Doctor knew that he had to talk to Hatch, face to face. He seemed to be the one with all the answers.
Finding Hatch proved comparatively easy. Ten minutes at the library just off Leicester Square, trawling through copies of Who's Who Who's Who and surfing local government sites on the Internet, provided him with all the information he needed. and surfing local government sites on the Internet, provided him with all the information he needed.
Number 24a Velocity Crescent. It was, the Doctor thought, the first time he had found an adversary's location listed in public records.
Outside the library some workmen had a radio that played sugary pop music at an extraordinary volume. As the Doctor left there was a brief news report. Hatch was at Westminster, taking part in a debate on the latest defence review. There was a brief snatch of his voice, the man clearly annihilating the arguments of the shadow minister.
The next report concerned an outbreak of random violence in Liverpool.
Shaking his head, the Doctor gave some money to a man selling The Big Issue The Big Issue outside Tower Records, and headed for the Underground. outside Tower Records, and headed for the Underground.
The Doctor reached Knightsbridge in a crowded tube train full of sweating office workers. Outside, it was no cooler. He hurried towards Hatch's home.
He stood on the opposite side of the street for several minutes, but the house seemed dark and empty. The Doctor knew that this was partly illusory. As Defence Secretary, Hatch's residence was a prime terrorist target, and it was almost certain that security cameras and policemen watched the area intently.
'Another spot of breaking and entering,' the Doctor said as he crossed over.
Bob Matson pushed the fuel-soaked rag deep into the bottle of vodka, grinning like a child. 'You think I've gone too far?'
he laughed. 'You ain't seen nothin' yet.'
He walked down the slope towards the conservatory at the back of the Chinese restaurant. Somewhere a dog barked, and a car accelerated away from the Green Man. He just hoped Don Tyley was looking after the pub properly.
Obscured by bushes, Matson stood watching the waiters as they flitted around the diners, who were making inconsequential, silent conversation. He recognised some of them, but he was far beyond caring. He pulled the old Zippo from his pocket, flicking it open and lighting it with a single flourish, as he'd seen people in the movies do. Then he ignited the dripping rag, paused, and hurled it with all his strength at the pristine glass.
The bottle smashed through, spraying liquid that instantly caught fire. The room was suddenly full of screams and smoke, people overturning plates of finely made food in their enthusiasm for the exit. The starched linen on one table was already burning, and an elderly woman shrieked, holding up an arm consumed by flame.
'That's one in the eye for Johnny Foreigner,' said Bob Matson as he turned away, his laughter drowned by the cries of terror from within the restaurant.
'Don't move.'
The voice was soft, but filled with menace. The Doctor instantly raised his hands and spun around as a table lamp was flicked on, momentarily blinding him.
'You're quite a scallywag, aren't you, Doctor?' The Doctor blinked the pain from his eyes and focused on Trevor Winstone, who sat at Hatch's desk. He was holding a gun.
'I didn't think anybody was at home,' said the Doctor.
'Evidently. Thieves seldom do. And you on the school's board of governors, too... Think of the shame.'
The Doctor laughed out loud.
'What are you so happy about?' asked Winstone.
'I'm just thinking that on the last two occasions we've met, you thought I was about to die. I'm still here. That should tell you something about me.'
'Lucky?'
'Difficult to get rid of,' said the Doctor. 'Where's Hatch?'
'Haven't got a clue,' said Winstone. 'Up to some nefarious skullduggery, no doubt,' he said with an ironic chuckle. 'I got someone to ring him from Liverpool when I heard about Kenny. I bet Matt was really cut up about that. Then I got the train down.'
'First class?' asked the Doctor, as though interested in such trivialities.
'Of course,' said Winstone. 'By the time I got here, Matt was gone. His wife's leaving him, you know. And there's some scandal brewing, too. A couple of the papers have got hold of it. He's lied to the House. Bad times ahead for cousin Matthew, I reckon.'
'And you?'
'Oh, I'll survive,' said Winstone casually. 'I always do.'
'Do you know what we found up in Liverpool?' asked the Doctor angrily.
'Terrible housing, mass unemployment and rampant crime?' said Winstone. 'I blame the government, myself.'
'Shanks was contaminating the water supply,' continued the Doctor. 'I'm sure now that the genetic material unleashes mental powers - turns people into psychic batteries. Not everyone can cope with it.' The Doctor's eyes were dark and unblinking. 'As we speak, hundreds of people in Liverpool are being slaughtered. Men, women and children. Innocent lives lost. What's made the whole thing worse is that the area has just been flooded with weaponry. Tell me, where do you think this superfluity of arms originates?'
'I can't imagine,' said Trevor.
The Doctor sighed. 'Shanks wasn't clever enough to come up with the scheme to pollute the water supply all on his own.'
'No, indeed,' said Trevor. 'Bright lad, our Ken, but a very linear mind.'
'Hatch, on the other hand?'
'Remember what I told you in Giroland? Deep as the Earth's core.'
'The obscenity of what you people are doing staggers me,'
said the Doctor with a furious anger in his voice. He leaned on the desk, almost shouting at Winstone, despite the gun still trained on him. 'Do you understand?'
'Nothing to do with me,' said Winstone, without blinking.
'I'm just a legitimate businessman.'
'An arms trader,' continued the Doctor, spitting the phrase at Winstone. 'A broker in death.'
'Your point being...?'
'Why?' shouted the Doctor.
'Why? Why is the sky blue? Because it is.'
The Doctor half turned, throwing up his hands in impatience. 'That's nonsense,' he said.
'Selling arms to Shanks's boys is no different from selling them to some bunch of Arabs in the Middle East. I sell metal tubes. Once they're out of my hands I don't care what the buyer does with them.'
'When you were six,' said the Doctor, slumping into a leather armchair, 'I visited the school with Nyssa. You sat on my knee and told me you wanted to be an astronaut. Do you remember?'
'Yes,' said Winstone. 'You told me a story about an astronaut who wanted to be in space so he could see the face of God...'
'But when he got there, he couldn't see anything but space,' continued the Doctor. 'Do you remember the moral of the story?'
'No.' There was an almost innocent curiosity in Trevor's voice now.
'The moral was,' began the Doctor slowly, 'that sometimes we do the right thing for the wrong reason, and sometimes we do the wrong thing for the right reason. But that right and wrong are always involved.'
'The money Matthew made from brokering the arms deals, and all his other projects, goes to an infertility clinic,' said Trevor suddenly. 'I don't know why I'm telling you this.'
'Because you want to,' said the Doctor. 'Infertility? I knew it. It's all to do with the village, isn't it? Once anybody leaves, they lose the ability to reproduce.'
Trevor nodded. 'You are are smart. Matt wants me to kill you, you know.' smart. Matt wants me to kill you, you know.'
'But you won't,' said the Doctor.
'Won't I?'
'No,' said a voice from the blackness of the corridor.
'Because if you do, it'll be the last thing you ever ever do.' do.'
'Chief Constable,' said the Doctor as Denman walked into the room, both hands around a pistol. 'How much of that did you hear?'
'Most of the incriminating stuff,' said Denman. 'Some idiot left the door open.'
'Ah, that was me,' said the Doctor brightly. 'I thought it was about time you got here.'
'Right, sonny,' said Denman moving closer to Winstone.
'You're nicked. Put the gun down and lie face down on the floor.'
Trevor smirked. 'I don't believe you have the authority to arrest me any more. Not after everything that happened last night.' He placed his gun on the table. 'In any case, that's all a bit hackneyed, isn't it, Mr Denman? What do you except me to say? "It's a fair cop, guv. You got me banged to rights and no mistake"?'
'How about "ow",' said Denman, punching Trevor in the face. Trevor toppled backward over his chair. Denman rounded the desk and kicked him savagely in the ribs. The anger that he had struggled to contain during the encounters with Shanks and Hill finally spilled over. 'Last night my daughter killed herself. She's dead because of people like you, you verminous bastard,' he said, kneeling down and punching Winstone again. 'Do you hear me? Nicola's dead.'
'I'm sorry,' wailed Trevor as the Doctor leapt over the desk and pushed Denman away.