Doctor Who_ Drift Part 13

Her real concerns were about the Doctor.

She'd spent months down at Fort Meade running psych evaluations on graduates of the Agency's Grill Flame programme; not so long ago that she'd forgotten how to recognise a higher intelligence when she met one.

More significantly, she was sure she had read a file or several on a character going by that same alias. Parker was a wizard at remembering the most obscure bets and she needed to consult him before she was a hundred percent sure. Ninety-nine simply wouldn't do.

Besides, if her suspicions about this Doctor held water, she would need her partner's backup as well as his input in deciding what to do next.

Those thoughts carried her up the steps to the store. They were replaced by a whole new set from the instant she turned the handle on the door.

Her partner was standing with his hands up, looking along the back aisle.

Melody eased the door open and reached inside her coat.

The bell rang above the door. She swore silently.

'Who's there? Who the h.e.l.l's just come in?' a man's voice demanded, spitting its words.

Melody executed a quick scan, looking up towards where the walls met the ceiling. There: over in the middle of the right wall, just above the pet foods and cleaning products. No CCTV camera here. Only a security mirror.

And in it: Parker's most immediate problem.

The figure's back was hunched and distorted in the mirror, but Melody could see the pistol, an automatic, and she could even recognise the label on the bottle. The hint of another figure curled around the edge of the mirror. The question occurred to her. was the drunk helpfully debilitated, or was he experiencing one of those moments of clarity?

It could, she decided as she drew her own gun. make all the difference.

Now that he had the Doc pretty much all to himself. Morgan was hopeful of getting a rein on his famous good mood.

Chaos was okay; he could handle chaos, hut only as long as it eventually learned to do what it was told.

'All right. Doc, what's the something important we're missing? Other than the flight recorder and a million other pieces of my aircraft?'

The Doc snapped out of whatever deep thoughts he'd been having and answered with a scowl. 'Do you have to keep shortening a perfectly good name? How would you like it if I started shortening all your precious codenames or addressing you as Cap, Cap, hmm?' hmm?'

Morgan stared. This was not going to plan.

'Information. Captain Shaw,' the Doc regarded him at a curious angle. 'Perhaps you can fill in more of the blanks than you realise. For instance, tell me what happened from your point of view. Presumably your team must have been monitoring the flight from the ground.'

Morgan took a moment to realise they were back on track again. 'Absolutely. Constantly. Right up until we lost radio contact, radar contact and - everything.'

'Everything?'

'Everything.' Morgan sighed. The Doc wasn't going to settle for sc.r.a.ps. 'Kristal was in direct psychic - I don't know - communion with the Stormcore. Theory was, by manipulating the device's emissions, she manipulated the weather system. with the Stormcore. Theory was, by manipulating the device's emissions, she manipulated the weather system.

It was her directed Psi waves that kept it active. She was our co-pilot on the ground, if you like.'

'I don't like, but do go on.'

Morgan couldn't help wondering what Derm was thinking, seeing his 'Cap' put on the spot like this. What the h.e.l.l, he needed to fed they were getting somewhere.

'All right. The Stormcore allowed for the transmission and reception of commands or data, what the Grill Flame techs termed psychosensation. Or what Kristal calls clairvoyance.

You ask me, the name doesn't matter. What matters is, she was getting all kinds of data hack from the device - visual. IR, radar, the whole spectrum - seeing through every one of its senses. Then,' he made a cutting motion with his hand, 'zip.'

'Well there you are,' concluded the Doc. as if that solved it.

'There I am what?'

The Doctor held his gaze for a heartbeat. 'If the Stormcore was kept active by Kristal's directed psychic energies, and then it suddenly cut out, I think we can safely a.s.sume her psychic link was cut. Or jammed '

'That's one h.e.l.l of an a.s.sumption.'

'Well,' considered the Doctor at length, 'it would be. But then again, I have the benefit of some additional insight .'

'Which is?' He wasn't going to stand for the Doc holding out on him now.

'Let's just say, I know how she feels'

Curt listened intently for footsteps after the door had closed.

The clerk's face in front of him was a stone mask. The man who'd introduced himself as Parker had instructed whoever it was to leave before Curt had thought of how he wanted to play it. He was furious with the guy for stealing the initiative.

'You b.a.s.t.a.r.d. They'll go and call the cops.'

'Well, maybe, but I think the cops in this town are busy, you know.' The man called Parker shrugged an apology.

'Anyway, I don't think that old lady saw anything too suspicious. Me with my hands up, is all. And I'm pretty sure she couldn't have seen Mr Byers here '

Curt made a face like he was in pain, although he couldn't feel much of anything. Nothing distinct anyway. Only the threads of cold running through him and the sweat all over, making him shiver. It was getting to be the gun was the steadiest part of him.

Curt concentrated. No, there was nothing. The old lady must have gone like the guy said. n.o.body could move that quietly, not on these old boards. And yet, he could swear he felt another presence in the room.

The man, Parker, spread his hands wider. 'We've got some time to talk, pity to waste it.'

'Shut the h.e.l.l up! I'm trying to think.'

The clerk hadn't budged and Curt could see the tiny nervous tremors in his facial muscles. Those minute tics were starting to aggravate. He thought about putting a bullet into that stone face - then another in the face beyond it. The one with all the pretence of friendship.

'I don't know you. You're not my G.o.dd.a.m.n friend.'

'h.e.l.l, no!' shouted Parker, and the volume was like a shock of hot water. 'You're pointing a gun in my approximate direction here and it's making me nervous I get real talkative when I'm nervous, it's a bad habit I know but what can you do to break a habit. Huh? I mean. I have a hard enough time trying to kick the smokes, you know what I'm saying?'

The rising tone was driving Curt into a panic. He felt pearls of pure ice standing out on his forehead and his breathing was feverish. He was on the verge of whimpering as he poured every grain of energy into keeping the gun on Parker.

He could sense a danger heir, feel it coming at him like a freight train, but all he knew for sure was he couldn't take his eyes or the gun off that man. Not for a second.

'Drop the gun and get down on your face NOW!' NOW!'

The power of decision was gone. He was pure reflex. He wheeled around, swinging the gun onto the woman. Two shots shattered the air. The noise burst inside of him.

Then he was dropping, straight down, listening to the pinp.r.i.c.k chimes of breaking gla.s.s. The golden smell of whisky sprayed everywhere.

He was on his hack and the store was spinning.

The woman stood over him with her gun aimed down at his chest. His chest, where it hurt the most. He didn't know where his own gun had gone. He couldn't feel it in his hand any more. Then he heard it, skittering down the aisle, as the woman kicked it away.

The man, Parker, floated into view.

'You tried looking in a mirror lately, pal?' he said. 'You really don't look so good.'

Curt cried, feeling the tears pool in his eyes Shadows gathered inside him.

'Amber? My little girl?' His voice sounded small, like a child's.

'I'm sorry,' the woman told him. She tucked her gun slowly out of sight, and she knelt beside him with one hand outstretched. Her palm came down over his eyes and suddenly it dawned that he was never going to see Amber again. He fought to build a picture of her in his mind, but somehow it kept coming out as a blur of white.

Then the storm in Curt Redeker's head fell silent.

Chapter Ten.

Bad visibility was so much worse when you were riding down the mountain flat on your back. Despite all the painkillers, Paul Falvi felt the stretcher ride bouncing his gut around, as he watched his world go by through a filter of cold and pain.

There was no shine to the silver In the branches overhead, the surrounding white having lost the last of its brightness.

Withered arms of trees tossed blanched confetti down on the procession and Falvi thought, blearily. that this was no wedding march.

No, man, this is my funeral. No offence to Eastman's skills, but he wasn't expecting to make it down this mountain. But every time he felt a shaft of pain, he'd grab onto it and use it to strengthen his resolve. Oh yeah, he was was going to make it. going to make it.

He was in good hands, the best. Coc.o.o.ned in a sleeping bag, plus an extra blanket, borne along by a couple of angels.

Well. Eastman and Barnes. Probably lost their halos a long time ago. but they both had sun in their eyes, even on a cold day. Shame was, he was getting all the wrong view of Barnes - and he had to lift his head for a proper view of that.

'I know what you're doing. Falvi,' spoke Eastman from on high Falvi laughed, and winced. He let his head drop back again.

Man, that was hard work. 'Hey. tell Barnes these uniforms don't do squat for her figure.'

'Let me know when Donna Karan lands that Army contract.' Barnes tried a glance over her shoulder, tough work in the hood. 'How you doing back there?'

'Been better.'

Falvi rolled his head to the left. Pelham was tramping along by their side, the grenade launcher giving his M4 rifle a serious double chin. Seen through a haze of drugs, mist and pain, he was a lot less ugly. Falvi wanted to laugh again but it felt like he might fetch.

Anyway, he could just make out the lieutenant, moving down between the tires, all on his own and taking lots of looks around.

Well he might. He'd let everyone know how caution was his watchword.

'Son of a b.i.t.c.h, He could've let you take them, Barnes. Eyes closed, no sweat.'

The words were a battle, but he had to say them. Pelham was close enough to hear, but Sergeant Bederman. with his permanently stern gaze and a face of bevelled edges, was out on the wing, past Pelham and safely removed from the conversation. Barnes was quiet a while.

She said. 'Let it go, Falvi. It was Hmieleski's call.' The hang of her head and shoulders said the test. 'The Kristal Ball is going after her.'

'I heard.'

Falvi straightened his neck, aimed his eyes at the sky again. Except of course it wasn't there The white ceiling was too solid and too low to be called cloud. It smothered the treetops, hurling flakes of itself everywhere, like a moulting blanket thrown in the air. If he slipped away now, unconscious or the alternative, he supposed he'd still be seeing white.

He rolled his head again for another glimpse of the Lieutenant. McKim was the vaguest of silhouettes, walking into a lot of nothing.

'What worries me, it's what they might be dragging her into.' His thoughts travelled on ahead, following McKim into the snowfall. 'You know?'

For a moment, he thought n.o.body had heard him. Like maybe he had drifted off and the real world carried on into his dream.

But then he could see the hollow response in Pelham's gaze at least. n.o.body wanted to talk about it. What they'd witnessed at the house. Before the fire, before Hmieleski got nabbed.

'Maybe they're still out there.' he suggested hoa.r.s.ely.

'What?' Barnes was annoyed at being spooked, he could tell.

The bad part was he wasn't playing games. Suddenly Falvi really believed it. That had to be the truth: the cult had staged everything. Blown each other away in a frenzy, and now they were ghosts sulking the landscape. Ghosts, at one with the winter. Cold and dead and white.

It made sense. Scary sense.

Falvi blinked and lay back to get a rein on his breathing.

Stupid. Getting worked up over a hunch. He kept it to himself and watched the grey branches pa.s.s overhead.

The sound of the shots soared over the s...o...b..und town like a couple of distant jets, one chasing the other's tail. Makenzie pressed on Martha's and Amber's shoulders, as if to plant them where they stood, then he was running for the store.

He'd been trapped in a fight with Martha over that deal he'd made with Morgan. Fair enough; but he'd had a bellyful of quarrels since Morgan had turned up, and he'd been searching for a quick excuse to duck out. Gunshots, though, were not a welcome pretext.

When he reached that door, Makenzie knew the drill. He took it slow, stole a good look round past the edge of the window, and he went in with his revolver up. The adrenaline was up a little higher.

The bell sounded a lonely note as he entered. Hal's store was routinely quiet. The whiff of smoke told him this wasn't routine. Makenzie knew he was too late: the shots had been fired Hal Byers was on his feet, walking out from the end aisle and mopping his face and brow with a big handkerchief 'Mak,' he motioned to the aisle. 'They took care of it.'

Taking him at his word. Makenzie holstered his pistol and went around to check it out.

He should have expected to find the CIA woman and her partner she'd said she was going to look for him here. The ident.i.ty of the body on the floor, rather than the death, was the shock.

Makenzie felt like his gut had been scooped out. the rest of his insides sinking to fill the pit.

The Quartararo woman stood up from examining the corpse. Her partner, built broad like Makenzie, thrust out a hand and a smile way too warm for the situation.

'Agent Parker Theroux, pleasure to meet you. We had a minor hold-up situation here, but as you can see it's all under control. It's cut-and-dried, open-and-shut, a closed case on your books. Chief.' The smile perked up a touch. 'I'm sure we're not going to run into any jurisdictional difficulties on this one.'