Doctor How and the Deadly Anemones by Mark Speed Read Free Book Online Page B

unnaturally blue eyes.
    “A touch of PTSD, lad. Post-traumatic stress disorder. You’ve seen a lot in a few days, but you’re handling it well. But there’ll be a lot more to come before we see an end to this. Your heart’s in the right place, and you should thank your mother for that. Get yourself home. I have to go to the university and check in with Dolt.”

 
    Thickett grimaced at his colleague Dr Camilla Peterson. She returned a faint smile and he grimaced again. A small but prominent area of his scalp had been shaved so that a wound to his head could be sutured and a white plaster stuck over it, as if to mark him out for his failure the previous day. A grandfather clock ticked next to the desk of C’s personal assistant. Such an expensive item should have been in C’s office, so it was clearly in his anteroom to let those waiting for a meeting know who controlled the amount of time they spent there. It ticked loudly and deeply.
    “I don’t know what you’re smiling at, Miss Peterson,” hissed Thickett.
    “I filed my report and made my verbal submission yesterday,” she said. “I’m sure C just wants to ask you a few questions to corroborate the day’s events. After all, he’s having to sign off on some awfully expensive repairs.”
    “I could lose my job over this!”
    “I hardly think so. You’re the head of MI16, and have been for… decades. Who would replace you?”
    The harsh glare from behind Thickett’s glasses told her exactly whom he thought would succeed him.
    There was a buzz from the PA’s desk.
    “C will see you now,” she said. “Go right in.”
    Peterson reached C’s door first and held it open for her colleague, who gave her a final scowl before entering.
    C’s office had a river view of the Thames at Vauxhall, in the fortress-like building depicted in the James Bond movie Skyfall . Its nickname in intelligence services was far less flattering: Legoland. A few hundred yards upriver the sun glinted off the new American embassy building at Nine Elms. The tide was going out, and the current downriver was swift. A stout tug boat was taking advantage. She was pulling three barges of garbage slowly through the water but was whisked past at unnatural speed.
    “Ah, Thicky,” said a fifty-something man, looking over the top of his half-moon spectacles. “I don’t believe we’ve met before.”
    Thickett gave something akin to a smile and stepped forward to reach his right hand over C’s desk. “Pleased to meet you, Mr Brown.”
    “Sir Adrian,” corrected Peterson.
    “Sir Adrian,” mumbled Thickett. “Sorry.”
    Sir Adrian shook Thickett’s hand in a disinterested way and then brightened as he turned his attention to Peterson. “Doctor Peterson,” he said, shaking her hand warmly. “Good to see you again. I do hope you slept well? Can’t have been easy, what with yesterday’s events. Do please take a seat. Camilla, if I may?”
    “Of course, Sir Adrian,” smiled Peterson, taking a seat.
    “I spent the night in hospital,” said Thickett. “My head still hurts.”
    “Yes. Proves just how resilient Doctor Peterson really is, doesn’t it? One of our highest flyers before she somehow transferred into… your department, Mr Thicky.”
    “Thickett. It’s Thickett .”
    “Oh, I do apologise. For goodness’ sake, sit down, man – you’re making the place look untidy.”
    “Thank you, Sir Adrian.”
    “I have to say I’d forgotten MI16 still existed,” said Sir Adrian. “If I even knew you existed before I forgot. God knows how you survived all the budget cuts.”
    “We deliver value,” said Thickett. “We aspire to be a revenue-generating asset by managing the transfer of foreign technology to Britain.”
    “You mean stealing secrets?”
    “Well, the original remit was to debrief German scientists after the Second World War. Not stealing secrets .”
    “Hmm. Nothing to be ashamed of; a large part of what the rest of us do is related to stealing secrets.