CHAPTER 12

Bomb Scare

‘Nearly there, Pond!’ puffed the Doctor. ‘Just up ahead, on the left!’

The Doctor and Amy were running back along the stadium corridor. It was the one they had followed earlier, which led past the room where they had spied the Jules Rimet Trophy.

‘There’s someone coming out!’ said Amy. ‘Look!’

They came to a standstill. Twenty metres along the corridor, a group of four police officers had just emerged through the press-room door. They were the men who earlier had been guarding the trophy. One of them had it with him now, carrying it carefully in its glass case. The police party began making its way in the opposite direction from Amy and the Doctor.

‘Excuse me! Hello there!’

All four officers looked round in surprise at the Doctor’s shout. As he quickly strode forward to join them, he slipped his hand into his inside jacket pocket. He muttered a quiet aside to Amy. ‘About time you and I had a career change, don’t you think, Pond? Been with FOOFA long enough.’ He pulled out his psychic paper. ‘How do you fancy being a plain-clothes police officer?’

Amy snorted. ‘There’s nothing plain about your clothes, Mr Braces and Bow Tie,’ she whispered back.

‘Hello, hello!’ said the Doctor cheerily, as he and Amy approached. He grinned. ‘Or should that be ’ello, ’ello, ’ello?’ He hooked his thumbs in his braces, and bent both knees to bob up and down.

The four police officers glared at him. Not one showed even a trace of a smile.

‘Just kidding. You know. Classic bobby-on-the-beat thing,’ persevered the Doctor, still smiling. ‘No?’

The nearest police officer stepped forward. The shoulders of his uniform bore the triple chevrons of a sergeant. He was clearly in charge.

‘How can we help you, sir?’ The sergeant’s tone was rather severe.

‘The name’s Lineker. Agent Lineker,’ replied the Doctor. ‘From Metropolitan Special Branch.’ He held out his psychic paper for inspection.

The sergeant peered at it warily.

‘This is my colleague, Agent Beckham.’ The Doctor gestured to Amy. She gave the officers a solemn nod.

The sergeant’s suspicious gaze was still fixed on the psychic paper. Finally he looked back at the Doctor.

‘You’re with Special Branch?’ he said, raising his eyebrows.

‘Indeed, sergeant. Plain clothes.’

Amy cleared her throat.

‘And what can we do for you, Agent Lineker?’ asked the sergeant.

The Doctor extended one of his long fingers. ‘I’d be terribly grateful if I could borrow that trophy you’ve got there.’

The sergeant frowned. ‘Can’t let you do that, sir, I’m afraid. I’m under strict orders to see that it gets to the Royal Box safely. Her Majesty is to present it at the end of the match. I was told not to let it out of my sight. I’m sure you understand, sir – after the recent theft, and all.’

The Doctor tucked away his psychic paper, then clapped a hand on the sergeant’s shoulder. ‘Absolutely, sergeant. And you won’t have to. Let it out of your sight, I mean. I just need to take a quick look at it. But it is rather important that I examine the cup before it comes into the Queen’s proximity.’

‘And why would that be, sir?’

‘Because, sergeant, we have reason to believe it’s a bomb.’

All four police officers looked understandably alarmed.

‘A bomb?’ the sergeant echoed.

‘That’s right. As you say, the trophy went missing recently. Special Branch has been looking into exactly who took it. We’ve just uncovered evidence that it was stolen – and then returned – by a known anti-royal terrorist. One Rory “The Wrecker” Williams. Very nasty piece of work. Show them, Beckham.’

Amy was caught a little off guard. She hastily dug out her mobile phone, and used its touchscreen to open up her photo library. She filtered the library for images of Rory. It didn’t take her long to find a pretty grim head-and-shoulders photo of him. Boy, did she remember that party … Amy selected the photo for full-screen display and held up her phone for the sergeant to see.

All four officers had watched the entire process open-mouthed. None of them had ever dreamt of, let alone seen, technology like this. To the 1960s mind, Amy’s twenty-first century phone was about as jaw-dropping as pure magic. Which, Amy realised, was precisely why the Doctor had suggested she use it. In the eyes of the four police officers, such incredible technology could only have been issued by Special Branch. They now bought the Doctor’s story hook, line and sinker.

‘Williams is a genius with explosives,’ the Doctor continued. ‘And he has something against the Royal Family. We’ve already foiled one attempt on Prince Philip’s life. Rigged polo saddle. Nasty business. We believe Williams has booby-trapped the World Cup trophy, knowing that it’s to be presented by Her Majesty.’

‘Really, sir?’ The sergeant was gripped now. ‘We can’t have that, sir.’

‘No, sergeant, we can’t,’ agreed the Doctor earnestly. ‘So if I could just take a quick look …’

At the sergeant’s signal, the officer holding the cased trophy hurriedly passed it to the Doctor. The constable looked rather relieved. He had been a little fidgety ever since the mention of the word ‘bomb’.

‘Now then …’ muttered the Doctor, placing the case gently on the corridor floor.

He took out his sonic screwdriver, then knelt down to apply it to the lock on the case’s lid. The lock immediately released. The four officers looked on in amazement. This lock-cracking gadget was obviously another piece of Special Branch techno-wizardry.

The Doctor lifted the heavy trophy from the case. He began scanning its golden surface with his sonic screwdriver’s glowing green tip.

He turned the trophy over. As he did so, it momentarily slipped in his grasp. All four police officers flinched visibly. The Doctor grinned at them. ‘Whoops!’

He turned his attention to the roughly cubic block of lapis lazuli that formed the base of the trophy. As he scanned its underside, the sonic flickered more brightly.

‘A-ha!’ The Doctor fiddled with the sonic screwdriver’s controls, then applied it once more to the exact centre of the lapis lazuli. Very slowly, he began to draw the sonic’s tip away.

Amy watched in amazement. Something thin and pale pink was gradually emerging from the trophy’s base, as though drawn out by the pull of the sonic. It was a spiralling filament covered in tiny frill-like swirls. It was made of a translucent, coral-coloured material. In fact, that was what it most reminded Amy of – coral. A long, slender spiral of fragile coral.

‘What’s that?’ she asked, before thinking.

The Doctor flashed her a look. He carefully drew out another few centimetres of the whatever-it-was. Its end finally emerged from the trophy base, leaving no trace of a hole. The Doctor caught it as it came free and passed it to Amy.

‘High-explosive strand, Beckham,’ he said gravely, with a discreet wink. ‘As we suspected. Complete with detonator. Very hi-tech. This Williams monster knows his stuff.’ The Doctor stood up and tucked his sonic screwdriver back in his pocket. ‘There! All done!’

Without warning, he casually tossed the trophy towards the police officer who had originally held it. Fortunately, the constable had good reactions. He caught the hefty gold cup, staring at it like it was a live grenade.

‘No need to worry!’ the Doctor reassured him. ‘It won’t harm anyone now! Completely defused. You can pop it back in its case and get it over to the Royal Box for the presentation as planned.’ He turned to the sergeant. ‘And I’d appreciate it if we could keep this little incident to ourselves, yes? National security, and all that. Come, Agent Beckham!’ He gestured to the nearby open doorway. ‘You and I have important Special Branch-type things to discuss.’

‘Right.’ Amy nodded. ‘Absolutely.’ She led the way into the press room, still holding the strange coral-like strand.

The Doctor gave the four dumbstruck police officers a final broad smile, then followed Amy, closing the door behind him.

There was a long silence in the corridor.

‘Sarge?’ The youngest officer was first to speak. ‘How hard is it to get into Special Branch?’