Doctor Who: The Sea-Devils (5 page)

‘Actually,’ said the Doctor, ‘no, because I had not the means to become aware.’

Captain Hart tried to contain his patience. ‘There are signs, in very large letters, warning the public to keep out, and you ignored these!’

‘I didn’t see any signs,’ pleaded the Doctor.

Again Hart cut in. ‘Because you entered by way of the sea! Obviously, we can’t have signs bobbing up and down on the waves.’

‘There you are, then,’ said the Doctor. ‘So the way I arrived, there were no signs to be seen.’

‘But you had no right to enter by way of the. sea!’ thundered Captain Hart.

‘Ah,’ said the Doctor soothingly, ‘but I was not to know that I had no right unless I saw some sign to tell me.’

It was clear that this conversation was going round in circles. The captain noticed the petty-officer trying to suppress a smile.

‘All right, petty officer,’ said Hart, ‘you can carry on.’ It was the Naval way of saying that the petty officer was no longer needed.

‘Sir!’ said the’ petty officer, as he about-turned and left the office.

‘Perhaps,’ said the captain, ‘you’d be good enough to tell me why you’ve dropped in on us in this unconventional way?’

‘I’d be delighted,’ said the Doctor, helping himself to a chair and sitting down. He explained what he had heard about ships sinking, and about the peculiarity of the lifeboat that was charred when no flames had been seen. ‘Before I was arrested,’ the Doctor explained, ‘I had a brief opportunity to look at those burn marks. I was particularly interested in the linear nature of the bums. Let me show you what I mean.’ With a winning smile he reached over and helped himself to Jane’s notebook and pencil and drew the pattern of the scorch marks that he had just seen on the bottom of the upturned lifeboat. ‘You will notice they have a definite shape, like this,’ and he drew a number of overlapping circles. ‘Those marks could only have been caused by a concentrated beam of heat applied from underneath when the boat was in the water. It was a clear attempt to make sure that there were no survivors.’

The captain glanced at the Doctor’s drawing, then turned back to the Doctor. ‘May I ask who you are?’

‘I’m the Scientific Adviser to UNIT,’ said the Doctor.

‘And I,’ said Captain Hart, ‘am Horatio Nelson.’

‘Good grief,’ said the Doctor, ‘I thought you were shot at Trafalgar. Well, my dear fellow, you’ve lasted pretty well!’

The captain again held down his temper. ‘What I mean, sir, is that you are either an impostor, or mad, or both! If you were in any way connected with UNIT you would have arrived here in a proper manner and started by presenting your credentials!’

‘My dear fellow,’ said the Doctor, ‘how thoughtless of me. But if you had wanted to see my credentials, you should have asked for them.’

‘All right then,’ said Captain Hart. ‘Let me see them.’

The Doctor hesitated. ‘I never carry them.’

‘Then that,’ said Captain Hart emphatically, ‘is the end of that!’ He picked up the telephone again. ‘
Master-at-Arms kindly come and take away the man in my office. Put him under guard—and then call for the police...
’ But it seemed that the Master-at-Arms was now telling the captain something, and the captain listened attentively. ‘
I see,
’ he said at last. ‘
You’d better bring her to my office.
’ He cradled the ‘phone.

‘Something gone wrong?’ asked the Doctor. ‘Has a mutiny broken out?’

‘There’s a young lady,’ said Captain Hart, ‘at the main gate, on a bicycle, with two UNIT passes. So possibly I shall be able to let you go.’

‘But I don’t want to be let go!’ the Doctor protested. A big chart on the wall caught his eye. It showed the island, part of the mainland, the contours of the seabed along this stretch of the coast. Oil-rigs, lightships, and danger points were also marked. In addition there were three black stars stuck to the chart, all clustered around one particular oil-rig. The Doctor pointed to the black stars. ‘Do those signify where the ships sank?’

‘I can’t discuss anything with you,’ said Captain Hart, ‘until I see your pass. Kindly be quiet.’

The Doctor nodded in agreement, and sat absolutely still. The captain went and stood at his window, hands behind his back, like a man on the bridge of a ship. There was a heavy silence until a petty officer knocked on the door and entered with Jo.

‘Doctor,’ she cried, happy to see him again. ‘That Mr. Robbins is very angry with you!’

The Doctor signalled her to keep quiet about Mr. Robbins and the boat. ‘This is Captain Hart, my dear. He’d like to see our passes.’

Jo produced them, and Captain Hart inspected them carefully. ‘Thank you,’ he said, handing back the passes to Jo. ‘The petty officer will now escort you to the main gate.’

‘Oh no he won’t,’ countered the Doctor. ‘I was asking you a question. Do those stars indicate where the three ships sank?’

‘As a matter of fact,’ said Captain Hart, ‘yes.’

The Doctor inspected the wall chart more carefully. ‘So all the trouble is centred around this one particular oil-rig. The sooner I get out there, the better.’ He turned back to Captain Hart. ‘Do you think some of your fellows could run me over there?’

‘Certainly not!’ stormed Captain Hart. ‘If you people from UNIT want to go joy-riding, you can fix up your own transport!’

‘As a matter of fact,’ said the Doctor, ‘we have.’ He turned to Jo. ‘Come along, my dear.’ He turned back to the captain. ‘You won’t mind if I leave by the same unconventional means that I arrived—towards the sea?’

‘How you leave this establishment,’ said Captain Hart, ‘is no concern of mine, as long as you leave. UNIT doesn’t run this country, you know. If any more of your people want to come here, perhaps they’d be good enough to ask permission!’

‘I’m sure you’re right,’ said the Doctor, and ushered Jo out.

The petty officer kept close to them as they went down the stairs of the administrative block and back to the concrete roadway that ran outside.

‘Want to get back to your boat?’ asked the petty officer.

‘Thank you,’ said the Doctor, and allowed himself and Jo to be escorted back to the fishing-boat. The petty officer remained on the quayside, watching them carefully, until they were well out to sea.

Warm and comfortable in his luxurious basement ‘cell’, the Master was watching television when Trenchard arrived with the charts.

‘Here we are, old man,’ said Trenchard, setting down on a table the huge rolled-up charts. ‘I think I’ve got everything you asked for.’

The Master switched off his television set, and unrolled one of the charts. It was identical to the one that the Doctor had seen on the wall of Captain Hart’s office, showing the island and mainland, and the contours of the sea-bed.

‘Excellent,’ said the Master. ‘You know, Trenchard, a man of your efficiency is wasted in a job like this—governor of a prison with only one prisoner!’

Trenchard was delighted by the Master’s compliment. ‘Well, I suppose it’s a bit of a come-down. I was once the governor of a colony, you know.’

‘Yes, yes, so I heard,’ said the Master as he studied the chart. ‘Never mind. When our plan succeeds everyone will recognise your true worth.’ Then he drew lines on the chart using a ruler; the lines connected the three points of the recent sinkings.

Trenchard was curious. ‘What are you doing?’

‘These are the three points of the sinkings,’ said the Master. ‘And here in the centre is an oil-rig.’

‘By jove,’ exclaimed Trenchard, ‘you’re right. In fact, that’s the one they closed down because they had so much trouble there. One of these oil men was telling me about it in the local pub. It’s being overhauled now, and they’ve just left a couple of fellows there to act as caretakers.’

The Master straightened up. ‘We must get sonar equipment and search that whole area!’

‘Sonar equipment?’ queried Trenchard.

‘Electronic equipment to probe the sea-bed,’ explained the Mater.

‘I know what sonar equipment is,’ said Trenchard, ‘but where do we get any from?’

‘It’s obvious,’ said the Master. He pointed to a place on the map not far from the château itself. ‘The Naval base. Use your influence.’

‘It’s out of the question,’ Trenchard protested. ‘They’d never agree to that.’

‘Then we must steal it,’ said the Master.

‘Steady on, old man,’ said Trenchard, desperately trying to remember that he was supposed to be the prison governor and that the Master was his prisoner. ‘I can’t go along with that sort of behaviour. You’re asking me to commit a criminal act!’

‘If I had my freedom,’ said the Master, ‘that’s what I’d do.’

Trenchard was silent, torn between his loyalty to the Prison Department who had appointed him to this job, and the plan that he had agreed with the Master.

The Master realised he may have gone too far with Trenchard. He said, ‘You are, of course, right, Trenchard, in refusing to commit a crime. But the deliberate sinking of three ships, and the murder of all hands on board, was a far worse criminal act.’

‘It was disgraceful,’ said Trenchard with feeling, and glad to have something he could agree with.

‘The question is,’ said the Master, ‘how many more lives will be lost? Isn’t it your duty to save those lives, and to defeat the enemies of your country?’

Trenchard thought about this. Of one thing he was absolutely sure—the sinking of three ships, in mysterious circumstances, all in the same area, could not be a coincidence. Through conversations with the Master, whose intelligence he had come to respect, he now firmly believed that these sinkings were being caused by experiments with some new and terrible form of underwater weapon. The only question that remained was--who was doing it? As a keen follower of international political news, he knew that since World War Two the Soviet Union had been steadily building up the biggest navy the world had ever seen, and that this consisted largely of submarines.

‘Apart from committing a criminal act,’ said Trenchard, ‘there is no practical way to acquire naval sonar equipment without their knowledge. That Naval base is a top security establishment. There are guards everywhere. Do you propose that I should jump over the barbed wire and dodge the sentries?’

‘Nothing so dramatic as that,’ said the Master. ‘We shall drive in through the front gate...’

4 Stranded!

The Doctor manoeuvred the little boat alongside the ladder that ran down one leg of the oil-rig. A stiff wind was blowing up a heavy swell. The Doctor managed to make up the boat’s line to the ladder, then helped Jo to scramble across to it.

‘I still say you should have taken Mr Robbins’ boat back,’ Jo called, as she climbed the vertical ladder.

‘I will, Jo,’ called the Doctor, now beneath her and climbing. ‘And you can return his bicycle at the same time, poor man.’

Jo found it heavy going climbing up to the top. As she ascended, she took care not to look down in case it made her feel dizzy. She was much relieved when finally she pulled herself up on to the enclosed deck of the oil-rig. She found herself in a long wide passage that ran the length of one side of the rig. The metal wall on the outer side had big windows at regular intervals, the glass containing wire mesh to stop them from cracking in a heavy storm. With the metal deck and metal walls it was like the interior of a ship, except that there was no roll.

The Doctor pulled himself on to the deck. ‘It’s not what you’d describe as teeming with life,’ observed the Doctor, looking up and down the passage.

‘Maybe they’re not working here today,’ said Jo.

‘You don’t think they just come out here to work, do you?’ said the Doctor. ‘Men live on these things for weeks at a time. Let’s take a look around.’

They went along the corridor and found that there were more leading off to other parts of the rig, and steps that led up to another deck above. After fifteen minutes of searching they found a cabin that was, or had been, inhabited. It was fitted out with bunks, a table and chairs, a small cooking-stove in a corner, and men’s clothes were lying around. On the table was a game of draughts, which the players had obviously left in the middle, and half a glass of beer.

‘Just like the
Marie Celeste
,’ commented the Doctor.

‘What’s that?’ Jo asked.

‘A ship that was once found at sea,’ the Doctor explained. ‘There was food on the table, and all the other signs of life, but no one on board. All the passengers and crew had vanished without trace, and were never seen again.’

Jo shivered. ‘Couldn’t you be a bit more cheerful? This rig is huge. The men could be anywhere.’

‘Why didn’t they finish their game of draughts before they went off to do whatever they had to do?’ said the Doctor.

Jo was beginning to feel uneasy. ‘I’ve no idea,’ she snapped. ‘Let’s just find them, and stop thinking of nasty ideas!’ She glanced out of the porthole set in the wall of the cabin. ‘And another thing, Doctor. It’s beginning to get dark. We ought to get back to the island.’

‘There’s plenty of time,’ said the Doctor. ‘Even if we go back in the dark. there must be lights on at the Naval base or at the cafe—I can just point the boat towards the shore lights—’

He stopped suddenly as they both heard a loud explosion. Jo rushed to the porthole and looked down. ‘Our boat,’ she cried. ‘Look!’

The Doctor joined Jo at the porthole. From here they could see straight down into the water a hundred feet below. A few pieces of broken, charred wood were floating at the bottom of the Iadder—all that remained of Mr. Robbins’ boat.

‘It must have been the petrol tank,’ said the Doctor.

‘Petrol tanks can’t blow up by themselves,’ said Jo. ‘Do you realise we’re stranded here?’

‘Not to worry,’ said the Doctor. ‘There must be a radio on this rig. I’ll send a message back to shore. But it’s a pity about that man’s boat.’

Jo put her fingers to his lips. ‘Shhh!’

The Doctor listened and heard nothing. ‘What is it?’ Jo pointed to the deck-head. ‘There’s somebody moving about up there.’

‘I shouldn’t wonder, after that explosion. Probably everybody on board is craning their necks to see what happened,’ said the Doctor. ‘Let’s go and find them all.’