Doctor Who Eighth Doctor Adventures 39 by The Turing Test (Paul Leonard) (v1.1)

Author:The Turing Test (Paul Leonard) (v1.1)
Format: epub

for him to fall over them. He was a garrulous man, and I knew from experience that garrulous men always give something away, even if nothing they say is true. ‘The paperwork showed that they returned from there, the full complement, under the command of one Oberleutnant Franz Schubert. The other names were interesting - Leutnants Mozart, Brahms, Beethoven, Wagner, Strauss and Bruckner.’ I chuckled. ‘With cover names like that you’d think they were trying to get captured! Even the SIS wouldn’t be so stupid.’ The Doctor gave me a sly glance. ‘No, probably not. I have a feeling they got the names from listening to the radio. It must have been classical night.’ He chuckled. ‘Tm glad you agree that they must be cover names.’ ‘German cover names. For a German operation. That’s what you said.’ ‘No, no. Schubert was a cover name. The others were different. They changed them.’ ‘So because they changed their names they’re different people?’ ‘Probably’ ‘So what are you saying - they’re spying on the Germans now? Who would do that, other than the Allies? The Japanese?’ Or the Turks, I thought. I remembered a story that my recruiting officer had told me, about the (male) Turkish agent in Paris whose cover name had been Ghanel Parfum. ‘Think! They’re not Japanese, or English.’ ‘So who. . . ?’ ‘I know them.’ The Doctor’s voice had changed: it was solemn, almost sepulchral. ‘I know them, and I feel sure they would know me. They are - like me. Not like you, or Brodie, or anyone else. I can’t explain.’ He was sounding exactly as the ‘chieftain’ had in D’nalyel, except that his English was better. Nonetheless I asked him, ‘What do you mean?’ ‘Oh, I don’t know them as in having a cup of tea. I’ve never met them - not these particular people. It’s the feel of them, the way they are, that’s familiar. They’re operating in a world they don’t understand.’ I remembered the strangers, the expressionless faces, the incomplete vocabulary. ‘Yes, you’re right there. But who are they?’ The Doctor didn’t reply, but stared at the corn dolly on the bed, as if in need of comfort. I became aware of footsteps in the passage outside: Brodie. I swore aloud. The Doctor raised his eyebrows. ‘A key point in the interrogation, Mr Greene?’ I nodded. ‘Go away, Brodie,’ I yelled through the door. There was a silence, then a loud, theatrical cough and the sound of retreating footsteps. 91

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