Chapter Fourteen

The two Brigadiers looked over at each other. The sound of the shots was drifting across London.

Behind them, the magnetic platform was rising again.

'Prepare to move out,' Bambera shouted to her men. They began pulling back to the Land Rovers. A pretty young lieutenant opened a car door for Lethbridge-Stewart.

'Sir,' one of the radio operators called back before he could get in. 'The spotters at Brentford report an aircraft. Unknown design, travelling at supersonic speeds. It looks Martian.'

They could hear it, cutting a swathe through the air. Lethbridge-Stewart swung his binoculars around. A large V-wing craft was approaching from the West. 'The Martian shuttlecraft.'

'The mountain has come to Mohammed, Alistair Gordon Lethbridge-Stewart.'

The Brigadier turned. There was a young man, wearing a duffle coat and long scarf, and behind him was an overweight chap about the same age. The old soldier narrowed his eyes. 'Who the devil are you?'

'My name's Oswald. I've been working in London during the Occupation. Sending information out over the Net. I know what's going on.'

'Thank God someone does,' Bambera muttered.

Oswald ignored her. 'The Martians have transported the gas from Reading in the shuttle.'

The Brigadier paled. 'We've been assuming that the only way to get the gas to London was using the warship. We didn't count on them transporting it in the shuttle. It's heading for the Tower.'

Bambera was wide-eyed. 'So Ford's team failed? Now the Martians have the gas?'

'Yes.'

Lethbridge-Stewart was reaching into his jacket pocket. He handed Oswald a small card.

'Mr Oswald, could you do me a favour? This is my wife's business card. It has her email address. Could you send her a message? Tell her that I love her. Thank you.'