Doctor Who_ Drift Part 15

His intuition hadn't betrayed him: the storm was thickening, like thick soup poured down the mountainside around the outskirts of the town. The winds were blowing harder, sweeping great plumes of snowflakes into the streets.

Leela would be finding her adaptability and survival instincts tested to the limit up there. At least she was in safe hands.

White Shadow troops were on guard at the store, keeping a small group of civilians at bay while Lieutenant Beard offered them rea.s.surances that everything was perfectly okay and there was nothing to see. The Doctor had his doubts. For now though, he was alone in finding something of interest opposite the store.

A brisk jaunt across the street took him to the lone truck, a civilian four-wheel drive affair, conspicuous only in that it had not been there when he had arrived with the Army.

Unlikely that government agents would have left anything too informative lying around in an unguarded vehicle. Still, the opportunity to find more details of the CIA operation here - without the need for all that verbal duelling with Captain Shaw - was simply too good to pa.s.s up. Especially as the agents' arrival was such a surprise to the Captain.

That the vehicle was locked was a very minor deterrent, given all that the Doctor could see through the lace-curtain of frost drawn over the windows.

Making sure Lieutenant Beard and his troops were properly focused on their job, the Doctor tried not to look too furtive as he picked the lock on the rear door. Within moments he was clambering inside and pulling the door closed.

Settling hack, he cast his gaze over the treasures littering the seat beside him.

He riffled through some of the doc.u.ments, quietly absorbing the top few pages of each; but most appeared to be dossiers on members or suspected members of the cult. He turned over a few of the gadgets, examining each with expert indifference.

Amongst all the leading edge surveillance and communications equipment, there was a graviton distortion sensor that was definitely not standard CIA issue.

As well as a raised brow, it prompted the Doctor to wonder unhappily about the number of s.p.a.cecraft the authorities mast have plundered. The Doctor considered confiscating it: the device was a possible - if imprecise - means of locating the TARDIS.

He returned it to the pile for now, and turned instead to the genuine prize of the cache, lifting it onto his lap and flipping back the screen. He wouldn't have a lot of time.

Rummaging through his pockets, he wondered if he happened to be carrying any kind of power cell he could readily adapt. He imagined CIA agents were the sort of people who might monitor battery usage on their laptop computers fairly closely Even if they were relatively careless with their storage arrangements.

Energy was currency in some societies, and he wouldn't want to be accused of stealing.

The wind was getting pretty loud, but Paul Falvi was listening to the whispers underneath. Somehow the absence of sound was making itself heard. Whoever said silence was golden needed to be here right now. Barnes probably wouldn't object to the extra company.

They both thought they'd heard Eastman's shout, but that had been long minutes ago.

Three more bursts of automatic fire might have come from Eastman or Pelham. If McKim or Bederman had been firing, they wouldn't have heard it anyway: the Heckler & Koch MP5SD was a submachinegun with a finger to its lips.

Time ticked by to the beat of blood in Falvi's temples. The wind played Chinese whispers with the possibilities running through his mind. Whether Pelham or Eastman, the howling silence was telling him he would never know an answer.

'You see anything?' Falvi fought to keep the panic from his voice.

'I - thought I saw something. Maybe. I don't know.'

Barnes retreated, drawing alongside Falvi. He could appreciate the closeness, but there were no thoughts of flirting in his head now. This was about security. And not any real security either, just a kid's false sense that because he was with his friend n.o.body could hurt him. Never mind that the friend was a kid no older or wiser than him.

For a while, he prayed to hear more voices, more shots cracking the cold air.

Beside him, Barnes held her rifle at the ready and scanned the woods. Great gusts blew in more snow to obscure even the closest trees. Even on his back Falvi could judge that they'd have ten or fifteen yards at best if anything did come at them.

Barnes raised the rifle to her eye. Lowered it straight after.

'What? What was It?'

'I - don't know. Maybe nothing. 'She shook her head, nostrils flared and mouth all tight.

'Hey, Barnes, give me a pistol. Help me sit up.'

She stared down at him. 'Are you nuts?' She was about to add something more, but Falvi saw the change of mind in her eyes. Maybe it was the plea she'd seen in his that did it.

Whatever, she slung the rifle and hooked her arms under him to start lifting. Falvi grit his teeth, but he let the pain out with plenty of volume all the same. In short time, he was propped against a tree, panting hard, and Barnes handed him her automatic.

She eased the rifle back off her shoulder and dropped down beside him and waited for him to flick the safety off before reaching over to clasp his left hand. She swallowed, then looked away. But she hadn't let go.

Now his arms were out of the sleeping bag, Falvi felt the cold all over. He searched around, waiting for the ghosts to attack from out of the white wood.

'You know,' he confessed, 'I only ever read that one bit of Lord of the Rings.' Lord of the Rings.'

Barnes pressed his hand tighter.

Falvi flinched and shuddered. Barnes' fingernails digging into his palm were like icicles. Then he remembered: she was wearing gloves.

He turned his head, his breathing galloping away from him, and he saw that she'd gone. She simply wasn't there. He looked down at his hand.

There wasn't time for anything else.

Chapter Eleven.

There was a rap of knuckles at the window.

The Doctor snapped the laptop shut. There was much more to be learned, but he would have to make do with other sources.

Lieutenant Beard stood back as the Doctor exited the truck. 'Hallo there,' the Doctor doffed his hat. He swung the car door closed behind him as a pretend afterthought. 'What can I do for you, Lieutenant?'

'Captain Shaw was wondering where you'd disappeared.

They could use your help inside.'

'Of course they could. Lead on.'

Whatever suspicions the Lieutenant was entertaining, the Doctor let him keep them. Tracks left by vehicles were already refilling with fresh snow. As the Doctor trudged through the miniature rifts, he retraced his path through the information he had gleaned.

Mines of information were much like the conventional kind: labyrinthine tunnels and if you didn't tread carefully you could cause a collapse. Negotiating his way around the hard disk hadn't been difficult, but sifting the files for relevant information had been like panning for gold in the Yukon. It was somewhat distracting, if vaguely flattering, to discover numerous references to unrelated UNIT cases, including several of those in which he'd had no small personal involvement. Fortunately, surprisingly few of the key files were encrypted and those that were unravelled themselves swiftly enough in the face of a home-grown decryption program the Doctor had found hanging on a custom toolbar That in itself was of pa.s.sing interest, because the interface looked to have been written by an enthusiastic amateur.

A curiosity, but an indispensable tool nonetheless The software trotted through a mult.i.tude of algorithms at once and blew down encryption walls without so much as a huff or puff.

The data confirmed what he had heard so far. Along with some behind-the-scenes secrets.

When Operation Afterburn was conceived in the early 60s, the CIA had been in possession of an extraterrestrial artefact they designated Prism. Grill Flame, their ESP/Remote Viewing programme, had confirmed the suitability of the device for a proposed application of those same researches.

Unfortunately for the Agency, the application required a formidable psychic talent, and the Cold War had thawed by the time the first viable candidates had graduated.

Still, early test flights had been conducted during the 60s and 70s, while Agency and Air Force technicians worked out how to wire an entirely alien technology into their relatively primitive electronic systems. Given the limited number of personnel that could be trusted, working in the face of mun-dane threats like budget cuts and successive reappraisals, it was the work of decades.

One alleged clairvoyant reconnaissance of a sensitive National Security Agency facility sparked investigations and a pooling of resources under one umbrella, centred at Fort Meade. (You had to admire human perseverance in the face of a challenge, the Doctor supposed.) Ultimately, Operation Afterburn had reached some sort of fruition. The device, freshly redesignated Stormcore, was mounted on a Raven Electronic Warfare aircraft. Monitored by the White Shadow team, the plane had flown a number of missions out of Pease Air Force Base, New Hamps.h.i.+re, in fair weather and foul. Until now there had been no incidents worse than a couple of routine electronics failures.

Schematics on the hard drive gave the Doctor both a better understanding of the device and an appreciation of how little the agencies understood their (borrowed) toy, however many codenames they chose to give it.

Various decrypted communiques revealed the true nature of the project and its true aims. And they had very little to do with delivering rains to a parched Third World. An issue the Doctor would have to take up with Captain Morgan Shaw.

There were also copious notes and reports compiled during the latest series of flights, including transcripts of all White Shadow radio traffic, up to and including the cut-off that had preceded the crash. That final moment had been transcribed simply as: WHITE NOISE. The reports were an indication that Captain Shaw's team had been subject to CIA monitoring long before the two agents had announced their presence.

So perhaps there were other issues the Doctor would have to take up with them.

The a.s.sembly in front of the store was neither large nor densely packed. Too spa.r.s.e and scattered to be called a crowd. Something bothered the Doctor about that, but for the present he placed it on the shelf with the rest of his concerns and allowed himself to be ushered past civilians and soldiers alike.

He pushed the door open and walked in on an already overcrowded crime scene.

'All right, go get a stretcher. And cover it when you take it out of here,' Captain Shaw was Issuing instructions. 'His ex-wife and daughter are down the street.'

Two troopers headed out from the rear aisle, dispatched to fetch said stretcher. One acknowledged the Doctor and gestured towards the far corner with his rifle. The Doctor detoured down the middle aisle and around the end to the centre of activity.

Makenzie Shaw was there, nodding to his brother. 'I'd best go break the news.'

Melody Quartararo stood the other side of the body, next to a man the Doctor a.s.sumed was her partner. Behind the counter, he noticed a middle aged fellow, probably the owner of the store, sipping at a cup of coffee and looking at everything but the corpse.

The corpse- The Doctor crouched down and fished in his pocket 'Before you leave us. Chief Shaw-'

'Makenzie.'

'Makenzie,' echoed the Doctor gravely. 'I gather this was the man you told us about earlier? The man you thought had vanished out on the road?'

'The same. I should go tell - Martha. And Amber.'

For all his resolve, the Police Chief looked reluctant to move.

'Yes,' the Doctor shook his head sympathetically. 'Yes, I suppose you should. Thank you, Makenzie. You've been a great help.'

Producing a magnifying gla.s.s and a pencil, the Doctor delayed his examination while Makenzie withdrew. He started making slow pa.s.ses with the gla.s.s over the victim's face as soon as he heard the bell ring above the door. He experimented with poking at the ice crystals with the tip of the pencil. 'Now there goes a man in an unenviable position.'

'Doc, I appreciate you joining us at last,' Captain Shaw leaned over, 'but Agent Quartararo here has already completed a pretty thorough examination.'

'Has she really?'

'That's right. Doc. My partner's got a list of medical qualifications long as - that scarf of yours. She's real thorough too. Never misses a trick.'

The Doctor looked up. 'Never?'

He studied the man who'd spoken. Behind the sungla.s.ses, there was something to suggest he was the type who seldom blinked. 'Never is a bit like always, don't you think? They both make for impressive records if you can pull them off.'

The agent removed the sungla.s.ses to present a pair of s.h.i.+ning eyes as an appetiser to his proffered handshake.

'Agent Parker Theroux.' The Doctor shrugged to show his hands were full. Again, Mr Theroux wasn't fazed. 'For instance,' the agent cited, 'she noticed how it's a little on the warm side in here, all these bodies giving out heat, but those ice crystals on his cheeks have only just started melting. Like they're a little reluctant to obey the laws of physics.'

'And I suppose she noticed how they seem to grow through the skin like shoots?'

'Excuse me?' put in Captain Shaw.

'The tip of a very nasty iceberg,' murmured the Doctor.

Pocketing the spygla.s.s, he used the pencil to gently tease back the collar of Curt Redeker's s.h.i.+rt. Tiny vines of ice clung to the neck, gathered into knots where the crystal structure jutted up through the flesh.

The Doctor rose in slow motion. This was the kind of discovery that demanded a temporary retreat. He regarded Morgan Shaw soberly.

'Captain, someone needs to conduct a post mortem before we can draw any definite conclusions But I'm persuaded of one thing.' He cast a look at the two agents, then down at the body of Curt Redeker. 'Whoever shot this man may well have done him a kindness.'

Amber knew.

When Makenzie approached from the store to draw her Mom aside; when he said he had something to tell her.

Amber knew. She knew something was badly wrong the way she always knew when Mom or Makenzie were mad with her.

The details weren't always immediately obvious; sometimes she'd forget what bad things she'd done lately. So. like now, she didn't have a handle on what was wrong, just how bad it was going to be.

Avoided, left to one side, it was all too easy for her to slip free.

She heard them both, Martha and Makenzie, shouting her name. On the same side, for once. Whatever it was they didn't want her to know, she didn't want to fight for it.

Quicker and easier to find out for herself.

She darted past a soldier and ran straight into the store.

All eyes turned on her. The soldier from outside followed her in. Mr Byers stood up to come around the counter. He gave her this awkward kind of look, and there was a flicker in his eye that he hid just a second too late. She followed it to the corner, then up to the mirror.

Miniature people were huddled over something. That was the bad thing.

She recognised most of the faces automatically: that Melody woman, Makenzie's brother, and the Doctor. Plus a man she'd never seen before. They were gathered over a dead body, blood pooling around it just like in the movies; only darker, less red. He was wearing a suit, but still looked kind of scruffy. He was-Daddy.

There shouldn't have been anything to connect them, this thing reflected in the mirror and her Daddy. The two pictures just didn't match. And yet she recognised him. And the image in the mirror shrank, falling away to a distant point like Wile E Coyote disappearing over a cliff.

Mr Byers walked towards her like he was afraid of her.

Amber stared at him. Then he reached out to touch her on the shoulder.

'Get away from me!'

Hating the sound of her own scream, sore in her throat, Amber spun blindly and ran headlong out the door. The world had never seemed so far away, and all she wanted to do was run and run until it wasn't even a memory.