The Reign of Floods
An Action Thriller by Steve Lake

Part of the Seventh Doctor Fiction collection

This feature length story is split over two pages

The wind lashed the rain violently through the air, making individual droplets feel almost as hard as bullets as they smashed into the bodies of the four people stumbling frantically through the rising waters for shelter. The sky was as black as pitch and jagged streaks of lightning seared through the air. The thunder following it was deafening, an artillery barrage to accompany the assault of the stinging rain.

Special Agent Warren Sobchak, a tall, dark-haired athletic young man in his early thirties, kept low, one arm raised to protect his own head, the other covering that of his ward. On the other side of him was his partner, Special Agent Mabel O'Doyle, who likewise had one arm over her head and the other protecting the man between them. Just in front of them was Agent Walt Malloy, their detail leader, scouting the way ahead. They were running, or attempting to run, virtually blind through knee-deep water that thrashed against them, soaked to the skin, bruised all over from the impact of the downpour, O'Doyle limping slightly from an injury sustained in the crash. They hadn't been the only ones affected by the fury of the storm. Their helicopter had taken it full on, and it was only through sheer luck and superb flying that they'd survived this far. The pilot, co-pilot and secretary travelling with them hadn't been so lucky. The same probably applied to the Marine helicopter travelling as their escort. No, they were stranded, and alone, in the middle of nowhere (practically) and at the mercy of the elements.

But at least He was safe. That was the main thing. The man running between them was badly shaken, bruised and a little bloodied, but he was alive. And to the three agents, that was all that mattered.

The safety and well being of the President of the United States was paramount to them.

It was just that he'd picked a lousy time to take 'the scenic route'. He could still hear Him waxing lyrical about it. "Lake Arapaho in all its glory... the sun sinking behind the dam... the sunset glinting on the still waters..."

Still waters, my ass, thought Sobchak. And he bet this water was evidence that the dam wasn't in good shape either. It was up to their knees and rising still. He felt that dam maintenance might be one issue that would be raised in the House sometime soon. If they got out of this...

It was curious all the same. The met report said clear blue skies all the way. Nothing about a near goddamn hurricane...

Sobchak bent his head towards the President's ear.

"How are you doing, Mr President?"

To his credit, the man attempted a smile. As Presidents' went, this guy had a GSOH and was always upbeat about things. It was that kind of attitude that was probably going to earn him a second term, high rate of taxation or not. "Ask me when we reach that bar," he yelled.

"What bar is that, sir?" Sobchak had to practically scream.

"The one I surely hope you're taking me too."

Sobchak managed a smile and raised his head slightly. There were buildings lining both sides of the narrow main street of the small town they'd crashed near. A neon BAR sign flickered fitfully in the gale about four buildings down but right now he was more interested in finding a sheriff's house, a surgery or something as equally safe and secure. Anywhere with some way of contacting the outside world would be just as welcome.

Safe and secure was something he was not feeling right now, and he knew the others felt exactly the same. There was something very wrong going on here, and not just the suddenness of the storm that hit them. The town looked deserted, only the odd light burning in the window. Perhaps it had been evacuated. That was a likely explanation, he considered. All the same, he still felt twitchy. The very suddenness of the storm was damn peculiar.

"I'll see what I can do, sir," he yelled. He glanced across at O'Doyle, who was doing her best to mask a grimace of pain but not succeeding well. He'd suspected when they'd crawled from the wreckage that her ankle was a lot worse than she was letting on, but the fiery red-maned third-generation Irish-American was reluctant to admit to anything even at the best times.

Malloy halted and turned, water streaming down his craggy, impassive features. "Mabel! Warren!" he hollered. "On your left! Ten o'clock."

Sobchak raised his head slightly in that direction, and saw the building Malloy was pointing to. He could just make out a large star and the words SHERIFF embossed its glass front. He glanced at Mabel who nodded slightly. She dipped her face towards the President.

"Come on, sir," she bellowed, picking up her own pace. "Few more steps."

It was a lot more than a few more steps, but it energised the man slightly.

They staggered towards the front of the building, gaining the faint shelter of the roof overhang. Malloy was already at the door, rattling the handle. It seemed to be locked.

"What the hell kind of two-bit dump is this when the goddamn sheriff station is locked at 4.30 in the PM?" he yelled.

The President, pressed as close to the wall as possible to keep out of the storm, managed a wry grin. "This is my home county, Walt... watch what you say."

Malloy grinned back. "Beggin' your pardon, sir... but shouldn't there be someone back there on duty? Can't all be out in this storm."

O'Doyle rubbed at the glass and peered through the window. "Can't see anyone... wait a minute... there is someone back there..."

Malloy pressed his face to the glass. "Yeah... there is someone. Right at the back." Malloy hammered on the window with the butt of his automatic, but there was still no response.

"He must be able to see us - at least hear us," O'Doyle called.

"Yeah..." murmured Malloy. "But he ain't... and I don't like it."

Sobchak was about to lean across too and take a look when the sound of engines suddenly snarled through the air. They whirled round and saw two sets of headlights approaching them down what was the road.

"Cars?" shouted O'Doyle.

"More like boats..." answered Malloy slowly.

"Yeah, but who?"

"Who indeed..."

Malloy stepped away from the door, weapon raised to high port. Automatically Sobchak and O'Doyle did the same, falling in between the President and the street, keeping him covered. Malloy's instinct for danger had proven many times over the years before, and had saved the lives of many colleagues... and at least three previous Presidents.

He jerked a thumb back towards the door. "Get that open and get him inside," he commanded.

Sobchak didn't need telling twice. He took one step back and forced the door open with one mighty kick. Between them, he and O'Doyle hustled the President inside, the rising water washing in with them, as the vehicles drew before the building. Their lights were piercingly bright, dazzling the interior, picking everything out clearly.

Including the man sitting with his back to them behind the desk at the rear of the office. He was a sandy haired individual, dressed in a brown police uniform. He didn't react to their entry at all, just remained slumped in his seat in front of the station radio. Sobchak was pleased to see that, at least until he noticed that the front of the set was dented and smashed. He tightened his grip on his pistol.

"Sir?" called Sobchak, approaching him cautiously. No reply. He reached out and swung the chair round.

He gasped and stumbled backwards with surprise.

The man's throat had been cut, a clinical, professional wound that stretched from ear to ear, practically. The front of his uniform stained crimson. His face was pale, eyes bulging with shock. The severed handset from the station radio was clasped in his right hand.

"Jesus," exclaimed the President.

Sobchak reached out and felt for a pulse, an automatic reaction though he knew it was pointless. There was none, and the wrist was cold and stiff.

"Been dead a while," he murmured.

"Murdered," said O'Doyle softly.

"Jesus," repeated the President, looking pale himself now.

Outside the engines suddenly cut out. Sobchak turned and pulled the President down behind a desk, O'Doyle ducking down with them so that they crouched in the water, which slowly lapped into the room through the door. He raised his head up to look for Malloy, who was still outside, standing in front of the door like a sentinel. Get in, get in, he silently urged...

"Secret Service," he heard Malloy yell. "Identify yourselves."

Sobchak fancied he heard a low chuckle outside from one of the boats, then a sound that made his heart skip a beat; the snick-snick of an automatic weapon being primed.

"Shit."

Malloy heard it too and dived backwards through the door. But he was just too late. A machine gun opened up, then another, and another, and suddenly the room was full of bullets. The front window gave in with a colossal groan, letting more water flood in.

"Malloy," O'Doyle screamed.

Malloy was caught right in the middle of the murderous hail. His body jigged and danced under the impact of the bullets and he staggered back into the office before falling to splash flat on his back, dead.

Sobchak was frozen only for a second. He levelled his pistol and screamed: "Shoot the lights."

O'Doyle snapped out of her horrified trance and raised her weapon too, firing shot after shot in tandem with her partner. One of the lights died, then another, but another snapped on immediately, keeping the room brightly lit. And the desk they were behind was scant protection against this kind of onslaught.

With a throaty roar, the engines started up again and one of the vehicles - Sobchak still couldn't make out what they were exactly - crashed forward towards the gaping window. More machine gun fire from its occupants swept the room, making the agents duck back on top of their ward.

It was hopeless, Sobchak thought desperately as he struggled to reload his pistol. If that thing got in here...

The vessel reached the lip of the window frame - and then exploded in a sudden roar of flame. There were screams and someone inside the boat was blown backwards out of it several feet through the air to disappear beneath the water. The defenders only just ducked in time to avoid the shrapnel, but Sobchak felt the blast singe his face as he ducked low over the President again, and a large burning fragment impaled itself in their desk. The vessel continued to hurtle forward through and into the room but it careered past them and smashed into the wall beyond them. There was another, smaller explosion - gas tank, possibly - and the flames leapt higher, licking the wall and ceiling. The room started to fill with smoke.

Someone inside the boat was screaming, screeching in absolute agony, and as he turned to look someone, torso alight, leapt from the inferno to plunge into the water that now flooded the room. They threshed and kicked, the water extinguishing the flames, still yelling and screaming as they struggled to rise. Some sort of weapon was still clutched in one hand.

O'Doyle swung round and pumped three bullets into it. The figure jerked back and crashed beneath the water once more, never to rise again.

"So long," muttered O'Doyle laconically.

Then, more machine gun fire - but a different sound, and above them. The occupants of the other boat fired back briefly, but he heard a scream and the heavy splash of someone else falling into the water from the vessel. The engine roared, and the vessel suddenly swung away and disappeared back down the street. There was a final burst of fire from above, then a pause. Something dropped down with a splash from the roof in front of the door, and silhouetted there he saw a dim figure hurrying forward, weapon in arms. O'Doyle raised her weapon again automatically but something made Sobchak knock it aside. The figure came forward and crouched before them, and in the glow of the flames he could just about make out their features; a sturdy black woman with short hair and a concentrated frown of aggression on her face. She cradled some sort of assault rifle across her knees and nodded towards them.

"Is that the President there?"

He managed to struggle up between the two agents. "Yeah - who are-"

She shook her head abruptly. "The name's Roz Forrester, but this ain't the time or place for an introduction."

As if to accentuate her point, something popped and banged in the wreckage of the boat, making them duck. Already the wall was alight and burning fragments had set light to other items of furniture. Flood or not, this building was quickly catching light.

The woman stood, held out a hand and beckoned them up.

"Come with me if you want to live..."

Sobchak exchanged a glance with O'Doyle. She shrugged.

"What have we got to lose?"

They helped the President up and followed the woman quickly from the building.

***

"No more bets, Madame's et monsieur's, no more bets..."

All eyes around the table fastened onto the roulette wheel as the croupier gave it a spin, the little steel ball clattering and clunking around the slots as the device reached peak speed before gradually slowing. A hush settled around the table as the players and audience awaited the outcome with baited breath.

Two pairs of eyes in particular studied the wheel. The first belonged to a tall, brown skinned man with menacing hawk features, dressed in an immaculate grey Nehru jacket, sourly impassive, dark eyes gleaming under the casino lights. His hair was similarly immaculate - too immaculate to be natural.

The other pair of eyes belonged to a tall, blond, broad shouldered and good looking young man in a white tuxedo, a red rose in his buttonhole. He had a big grin on his face, totally at odds with the tension around the table, to which he seemed completely oblivious.

The ball bounced across a few more slots, then finally settled into a hole.

The audience and other players gasped. Even the croupier, a man renowned for his coolness, raised an eyebrow, and had to clear his throat before announcing the result.

"Number 17, black. The gentleman wins again."

The dark man narrowed his eyes as he studied the ball's resting place, before glancing up at the young man before him at the other end of the table, who was happily scooping up his winnings. The dark man studied him for a moment, like a snake examining its prey, before speaking in a heavily accented voice.

"You are enjoying a great deal of fortune this evening, young man. That is your fifth win in a row. Quite remarkable."

The young man glanced up at him and grinned, seemingly oblivious to the venom dripping from the dark man's words and his look.

"When you're hot, you're hot," he chuckled. He looked questioningly at the croupier. "Is it really five times?"

The croupier nodded. "Yes, sir."

"Wow... my lucky number."

"Perhaps you ought to stop now... while you are ahead," rumbled the dark man. "No one enjoys such good fortune for long."

The young man grinned. "Naw, just getting warmed up," He raised a finger and a tall auburn haired waitress appeared by his side, her brief dark silk uniform accenting her impressive figure perfectly. She gave the young man a smile that would have melted a polar ice cap.

"What can I do for you, sir?" Her voice was low and sensual and implied there was a lot more available than just a drink from the bar.

His grin widened.

"JD on the rocks, angel." He flipped her a gambling chip and winked. "Keep the change."

The waitress smiled her galactic smile again, slipped the token down the taut front of her uniform, winked and shimmied away. The young man turned his head to watch her departure, lips forming to breathe a silent whistle of appreciation.

The dark man frowned dangerously. "Perhaps then you would care to play again, mister, er..."

The question was left hanging in the air for long seconds before the young man realised it was addressed to him and he tore his attention away from the waitress's legs to turn and smile winningly at the dark man.

"The name's Cwej... Chris Cwej." He winked and tossed a handful of chips onto the board. "Spin it again, Sam."

***

Colonel Gyorgy Semeyanov pulled another cigarette from the pack in the front breast pocket of his uniform and stuck it between his lips with a heavy sigh. He'd picked a bad time to give up smoking. Three weeks without and then this happened. Now he couldn't stop again. He wouldn't have put it past the tobacco producers to be in league with whoever was committing these atrocities. God knew they killed enough people as well, and likely him too. Just like his poor uncle Gennardy. Three years fighting in Stalingrad to be killed by a miserable leaf. He lit up and took a deep drag, coughing slightly at the heavy taste that filled his lungs. Ah, who cared. The way things were going that was likely to be the least of his worries. Of anybody's worries.

"Comrade Colonel?"

Varisov, the operator of the machine just in front of him, had swung round and was looking at him. His expression was not hopeful. Semeyanov nodded slowly.

"Another negative scan?"

Varisov swallowed. Semeyanov didn't know why the man looked so mortified. It wasn't like they shot anyone for not doing their job right any more. Especially if you couldn't help it. "Yes sir."

Semeyanov blew out a cloud of smoke that curled and billowed lazily in the confined space of the scanner room. With the door closed, the smoke caused a haze around the dim red neon that lit the area and tainted the air with a bitter, heavy tang. He would have opened the door but the corridor outside wasn't heated and the draught from the main doors of the little tracking station ran straight down it all the way from the North Pole. Semeyanov, like most Russians, was used to the cold, but that didn't mean he liked it. So the door stayed shut, and they stayed warm and had to put up with his smoking.

He didn't think Varisov was a smoker but he was certainly getting a good supply of his second hand smoke, as was the operator of the second device, Statsinsky. Perhaps that was why he looked so terrified. Maybe he too had an uncle Gennardy who'd fallen victim to the weed.

Statsinsky didn't seem to care, but then Statsinsky never seemed to care about anything, except his work. A dour, brooding lump of a man, he was hunched forward over his machine and staring at the screen unblinkingly through thick spectacles, as if hypnotised. To look at him you might have thought he was ill, but that was simply his way. That was the result of Nineteen years as a tracking operator, and in that time Statsinsky had become the best operator in the unit - the entire brigade - and Semeyanov turned a blind eye to his little peculiarities and studious lack of formality. Semeyanov had long ago learnt that, inspite of what the State told you, it paid to let the individual have their head sometimes.

He reached down and patted Varisov's shoulder, before leaning forward to peer at the screen, head dipping quite close to the younger man's.

"Run it again," he murmured. "And widen the range by another kilometre." Semeyanov considered for a moment. "Better make that three kilometres."

"Why not make it ten? Twenty? A hundred? Bozhe moi, we'll never find anything on these."

Statsinsky's low mutter of complaint took them both by surprise. Varisov swallowed again and glanced from him to his superior.

"That will severely effect the machine's operating capacity, comrade Colonel. It is already stretched as it is."

"Then stretch it further, comrade Corporal," chuckled Semeyanov. "What more can we do?"

Statsinsky permanent scowl deepened. "Invest in some superior Japanese equipment, Colonel. That's what we can do."

Semeyanov laughed dryly. "Sure, Statsinsky. I'll beg permission from the Marshal for a little trip to Tokyo and draw a few million roubles while I'm at it." He thumped the man's back. "I'll bring you back some of the rice wine they drink so much of. What is it called, saki?"

Statsinsky sighed. "You're the only one being sarky - ah."

He suddenly stiffened and held up a hand, the other pressed to the chunky earphones covering his skull. Semeyanov leaned forward urgently.

"Something?"

"Yessss..." Statsinsky's eyes narrowed to slits behind the thick lenses. "Not sure what... but something..."

Semeyanov glanced at the other man. "Varisov?"

The younger operator was gurning in concentration, but he was only a rookie and hadn't developed the ears for a job like this yet. But he was eager to please. Possibly he realised how cushy this job was when compared to cowering in an APC in Chechnya or locked inside one of the fleet's rusting atomic subs.

Sadly, Semeyanov preferred experience to eagerness any day, and he turned his attention fully to Statsinsky, who was totally immersed in what he seemed to be hearing over his earphones.

"What? What is it?" Semeyanov hissed.

"It's... it's... a very strange signature. Not heard anything like it."

"Could it be...?"

"I... don't know..." He dipped his head almost towards the face of the monitor before him, hands working the controls to try and get a lock on. "It's close... it's very close..."

Semeyanov and Varisov leaned forward too, caught up in the moment.

"Oh yes, it's closer than you think..." murmured a different voice.

It took them a few seconds before they realised there was a third head between them as well.

"Bozhe moi," exclaimed the Colonel, staggered back and clutching at his chest unconsciously. Varisov uttered a tiny girlish shriek and shot backwards in his chair, the headphones, still connected to the panel, torn free from his head to clatter to the floor.

Statsinsky merely turned his head and blinked slowly, as if dazed.

The newcomer grinned at Semeyanov and straightened up, clasping his hands behind his back. He wore a baggy white linen suit with a crumpled red tie knotted loosely at the collar of his shirt. A curious straw hat was jammed down on a tangled mass of dark curly hair. Even more curiously, an umbrella with a strange red handle hung from the top pocket of his jacket. It took Semeyanov a moment to realise it was a question mark. It wasn't the sort of outfit he'd expect to find anyone wearing in Siberia. But then he hadn't exactly been expecting visitors of any kind.

"Hello there," the man said, still beaming. "I'm the Doctor, and I think I'm in a position to help you... if you're prepared to help me." He looked from man to man. "What do you say?"

Varisov swallowed again, rubbing at his ears. Semeyanov reached shakily for another cigarette.

Statsinsky merely looked the newcomer up and down, shook his head and turned back to his screen.

"Crazy," he muttered.

***

Twelve straight wins; that ought to do it, Chris thought as he got up from his chair. The dark man hadn't taken his eyes off him since about the fourth win, so he'd succeeded in getting his attention. Which was part two of the mission accomplished. Part one was simply finding the man, though Goddess knew it hadn't been simple. It seemed like he'd scoured every gambling joint in Bangkok to find the guy. It wasn't because of his stupid disguise, either. The man was just exceptionally elusive.

But his renowned love for gambling had finally found him out. The man had ties with many of the casinos in town, and it was just a matter of time before he turned up at one. And here he was.

Now, the rest was up to him.

He nodded to the croupier and gestured to his winnings. "Would you make sure these are safe, my good man, while I'm away?"

The croupier bobbed his head in acknowledgement. "Yes sir."

Chris winked at him and pressed a suitable expensive chip into the top pocket of the man's jacket. The croupier beamed delightedly. Everyone loved a winner, especially when they were generous with it.

Well, almost everyone.

The dark man was regarding Chris inscrutably. "Leaving, Mr Cwej?"

"Only temporarily..." The auburn haired waitress passed close by again and he caught her eye. She gave him a slow, seductive smile as she shimmied past that made his heart thump and put his imagination into over-drive. He felt heat and colour rushing to his face and he made a supreme effort to control himself. Keep your mind on the mission, boy, he warned himself.

He looked back at the bald man and leaned forward conspiratorially. "Man's gotta do what a man's gotta do," he whispered loud enough for everyone to hear, and shot a meaningful look at the waitress before wiggling his eyebrows suggestively. A corner of the dark man's mouth twitched, whether through amusement or disgust Chris couldn't quite tell, though he strongly suspected the latter emotion. Then Chris heaved himself away from the table and walked - staggered - with an over-exaggerated list towards the bathrooms.

From the corner of his eye he caught the dark man gesturing to someone, and sure enough, two huge guys poured into tight fitting black tuxedos fell in surreptitiously - or as surreptitious as someone of their size and obvious menace could - behind him.

Chris allowed his grin to widen. Phase three of his mission was about to get under way...

***

Sobchak helped their rescuer heave the dusty old bureau up against the attic door and stepped back, wiping his hands. She thumped the mahogany side of the object approvingly.

"Built to last," she declared. "Possibly not the best shield against nine millimetre bullets, but under the circumstances..."

"It'll do," finished Sobchak. He glanced at the woman. "Nice work back there, by the way."

She pulled a face. "Not really. I wasn't aiming to blow the boat up like that. Must have hit the petrol tank by mistake. It was only a crukking stun grenade too," She thumped the bureau again, in frustration this time. "Now we're stuck here... for now."

"I'm grateful, all the same..." he glanced further down the attic, where the President sat resting in an old armchair, O'Doyle standing close by his side watchfully as always. "And so is the President."

She grunted, as if that didn't mean much to her, and moved past him to look out of the skylight set into the sloping roof of the house they were now sheltering in. After making a speedy withdrawal from the sheriff's office, the woman had led them to a simple two-storey building at the edge of the town's small residential area, not far from main street. There she took them up to the attic, safely out of the way of weather and the flooding, and hopefully out of the view of their pursuers.

The rain was still hammering down and the sky was still as black as pitch. Roz wiped at the condensation and peered out. Sobchak joined her. Nothing was moving outside.

"It's not getting any better. I'd hoped maybe they might switch it off, but they're obviously erring on the side of caution."

"Who's going to switch what off?" asked Sobchak.

She nodded towards the President. "He knows. Ask him."

Sobchak raised an eyebrow. Combat might have been her strong point but protocol certainly wasn't. "Ma'am, he's the President of the United States, and I'm only-"

"The guy who's supposed to take a bullet for him," she snapped. "I think he owes you a moment or two of his time for an explanation of things every now and then."

She moved past Sobchak, who frowned darkly at her. "You don't get it..."

"Maybe," she muttered, coming up to the President. O'Doyle watched her warily, fingers rippling briefly around the butt of her pistol. It was clear Mabel still didn't trust her. Sobchak wasn't sure if he should feel the same way too.

"How are you, Mr President?" she asked, quite respectfully.

He nodded. "Quite well, thanks to you, young woman. You saved us from quite a nasty situation back there."

She shook her head. "It isn't quite over yet, sir. Not by a long way."

The President looked grave. "I was afraid you'd say that."

Roz frowned slightly. "I'm sorry I wasn't able to save the other man who was with you."

Sobchak saw O'Doyle's lips tighten, though she didn't say anything. Walt Malloy had been something of a guru to her, and though she barely showed it - she was way too professional for that - he knew she must be grieving badly.

"Walt Malloy, yes..." the President sighed sadly. "He was a good man."

"The best," murmured O'Doyle. The President glanced up at her, then reached up and patted her hand gently. He knew how close they'd been as well. This President was a man who liked to get to know the people around him. Especially those who were prepared to stop a bullet for him. He always treated his security details with the utmost courtesy and respect, whereas some politicians Sobchak had protected looked straight through you. He wasn't that sort of man. The public may not have thought much of him at times - Congress certainly didn't - but he commanded the utmost respect from his troops, stemming from his army days, and he reciprocated it as best he could. Sobchak guessed he was feeling Malloy's death as well, and it hardened his resolve to see him through this crisis.

The President cleared his throat and returned his attention to Roz. "We'll mourn Walt later, but at the moment, I'm extremely grateful for what you did in saving the rest of us." He paused, looking a little uncomfortable. "And at the risk of sounding ungracious..."

"You'd like to know who and what I am, and what exactly am I doing here?" Roz smiled slightly. "Under the circumstances, all you really need to know is that I have been sent here to protect you to the best of my abilities. Any explanation of my exact circumstances would be, well, difficult. But you can believe when I say that I'm here to help you, and that I'm as concerned for your welfare as your bodyguards here."

The President didn't look quite convinced, but he was also a man who adapted quickly to situations and got on with them. Action before explanation had been one of his mottos, Sobchak remembered.

The President leaned forward. "Are you a soldier?"

"I suppose my original training could be classed as military, but my background is really in law enforcement."

"You're a cop?" said O'Doyle incredulously.

"Not in any sense you'd understand. Now," she said, turning away suddenly and looking towards the window. "What you really need to know and understand is that there is a large group of heavily armed men out there trying to capture you, Mr President. They are quite ruthless and utterly dedicated to this mission."

"And who are they working for?" the President asked.

"A man named Kanara." She glanced back at him. "You probably know him better by the name of Dr Flood."

"Dr Flood?" The President uttered a short, dry laugh of disbelief. "That maniac is responsible for all this?"

"I believe you have received detailed information about his plans, and how he intends to carry them out."

"Yes," he said slowly. "I have."

"You don't sound as though you believed them."

"I have to say I did not. The reports were a little... incredible." He glanced at Sobchak and O'Doyle. "Somewhere in the world is a very crazy individual calling himself Dr Flood who claims to able to control the weather and is threatening to destroy the planet with it." He looked back at Roz. "These claims, coupled with that ridiculous nickname of his, makes him sound, well, more than a little comic-book."

Roz leaned forward slightly. "There is nothing comic book about this man, Mr President. He's very real. A highly dangerous and highly rich madman with the capacity to ruin this planet and the will to do it. Look outside, sir. That's proof of his ability to do so."

"I think I see that now," he replied quietly. "And all this... coming after me in this way... is part of his plan?"

"Oh yes. Kidnapping you would be an incredible advantage to him. It'll show to everyone else in the world that he really does mean business for a start, and you would make quite a hostage."

"He'd gain nothing. The Vice President would just take over."

"He's an idiot, and valuable time would be lost while he tried to decide what to do."

The President frowned. "That's a bit damning, if I may say."

"Damning but true. You're a respected man, sir. You have the ability to get things moving, and not simply in your own country. That's why it's vital you remain at large. Kanara is a global menace. It will in all probability take a global effort to defeat him."

The President grinned. "You haven't seen my approval ratings recently, have you?"

"Sir, if you'll pardon the liberty, she is right, sir," said Sobchak. "If this guy is threatening world safety, it is paramount that you're in a fit state to help assist in his defeat."

O'Doyle nodded too. "I concur with Warren, sir. With respect to the VP, he's not half the force you are, sir."

He looked at each agent, then nodded slowly. "You might be right. I would carry more weight than Frank in a time of crisis. He's a great economist, a witty and informed debater, good orator, loves his country... but he's got a way to go before he'll make a great world leader." He glanced at Sobchak warningly. "But you didn't hear me saying that, right?"

Sobchak grinned. "Yes sir."

"Heard what, sir?" replied O'Doyle, also grinning.

He clasped the dusty arms of the chair and nodded to Roz. "Okay, what do I have to do?"

Roz pursed her lips, then began:

"Well, first off, we have to-"

O'Doyle suddenly held up a hand. "Engines," she hissed. "Listen."

And from somewhere outside came the familiar snarl of motors. Several motors...

"I think we might have to move again," said Roz slowly, reaching for her weapon...

***

"I suppose it would be pointless to ask how you got in here, hey?"

Semeyanov was standing close by the door, a cigarette jittering between the fingers of his right hand, studying the little man closely. He was sitting at Varisov's station making rapid alterations to the settings. He hadn't the faintest idea what he was doing. Statsinsky was watching on with weary bemusement, and Varisov merely stood back and gaped. Semeyanov wasn't exactly sure what to do himself. Correct procedure should have been to arrest him and lock him away, but there was a purpose and confidence about the man that made him very unsure. The only other person he'd met who'd had that air about him had been a Colonel in the KGB he'd encountered several years back. Very take charge, 'do as I say', no questions asked. The little man didn't exactly look like KGB - and Semeyanov could usually spot them a mile off - nor indeed did he look or sound particularly Russian, but his authority, despite his appearance, was unquestionable.

But he had to do something.

The Doctor - Doctor who exactly he hadn't said - didn't even look round from what he was doing. "Yes, Colonel, I'm afraid it would," he answered shortly.

"Ah." Semeyanov paused for a moment. "Or, I suppose, expect to see any credentials?"

"My credentials are impeccable," the Doctor snapped, "but seldom viewable. Or retrievable, for that matter."

"No ID at all?"

The Doctor looked round briefly. His eyes were dark and full of warning. "I've never been much of a one for names and identities, Colonel. Though I've had many in the past."

I bet you have, thought Semeyanov. Perhaps the man was some sort of spy. Western, undoubtedly. MI5 or CIA. He didn't look the Ian Fleming type - possibly more the Le Carre model. Semeyanov positively devoured Western spy fiction, and he loved Le Carre in particular. Maybe there was more than a little of the George Smiley about this man, and that thought began to worry Semeyanov even more. He glanced at the intercom by the door. It would take a minute or so to rouse the guards from their quarters. He and the others weren't armed, so it wouldn't be too difficult to hold him until they arrived... would it?

The Doctor smiled suddenly, as if acknowledging the uncertainty and tension in the room for the first time. "Knowing who I am isn't really important, Colonel, and in many ways, it's better for you if you didn't. But," and he leaned forward urgently, "it is important for you to understand that I'm here for a very important reason, and only to help solve the problem you've been assigned to investigate."

"Ah, and which problem might this be?" Semeyanov asked with all innocence.

The corners of the Doctor's mouth curled down slightly, and he turned back to the machine with a disappointed sigh. "Let's not play games, Colonel."

Semeyanov chuckled nervously. "Funny, I was about to say the same to you."

"I'm not playing a game, Colonel," the Doctor warned. "You know exactly what I mean."

He rattled in a sequence of commands on the keyboard set before the screen and punched the return key with a flourish. The display changed to show a map of the Pacific picked out in glowing green. The Doctor tapped the screen with a forefinger.

"Somewhere in the middle of that is a very mad scientist currently going under the ridiculous pseudonym of Dr. Flood. His real name is in fact Ronaldo Kanara and he's no more a proper scientist than I am a..."

He trailed off suddenly, as if struggling to think of something he wasn't. Semeyanov pursed his lips, and suggested softly:

"Authorised KGB official?"

The Doctor frowned and whipped his head from side to side negatively. "No, no, I was a Party member long before you were born, comrade... I just let it lapse, that was all." He turned his attention moodily to the screen again. "I never seemed to be able to get on with Comrade Stalin as well as I should... but then most of his ideals were totally opposed to mine."

"Comrade Stalin, yes," muttered Semeyanov. Maybe the man was no George Smiley after all, and just a wandering idiot.

"Anyway," the Doctor exclaimed suddenly, "getting back to my original point, this man Kanara, or Flood, or whatever he's choosing to call himself at the moment, is threatening to do terrible things to the biosphere unless certain ridiculous demands of his are met."

Statsinsky peered at his commanding officer. "Ridiculous demands? Colonel, what is he talking about?"

Semeyanov pulled a face. It wasn't really the Russian way to keep junior staff completely informed of their duties. All Statsinsky and Varisov had to know was that they were looking for something. Not why. "Statsinsky, as our friend just said, the less you know the better."

But the Doctor had other ideas. He turned to look Statsinsky in the eye. "Comrade, out there somewhere is a madman who seeks domination over the entire planet. Do you even know how he's trying to accomplish this?"

Statsinsky frowned. This much he did know. "Some sort of high energy source... used to stir up changes in the atmosphere... yes?"

"Yes, via a number of satellites recently placed in high orbit around key areas of the Earth."

"Launched by those damn Chinese," growled Semeyanov.

"They didn't know what they were sending up, Colonel. And they're suffering as badly as everyone else now." He looked back at Statsinsky. "Now these satellites are causing massive changes in the atmosphere, to be precise. With the result of creating highly extreme weather conditions. Very exact and very localised."

"Targeted, in fact," added Semeyanov.

"Precisely targeted."

Statsinsky nodded. "The flooding in Volvograd..."

Varisov chimed in. "The hurricane that ruined the Nykortny space launch site..."

The Doctor nodded and smiled. "Yes, and not just in Russia. All over the world." He began to tick things off on his fingers. "The river Thames in England, flooded. Greater London under three feet of water. Ice storms over Peking, China. Temperatures reached as low as minus thirty." He glanced up at Semeyanov. "Biting the hand that fed him, you could say."

Semeyanov grunted. The Doctor continued listing the planet's woes.

"Tidal waves across the Eastern shores of Australia. Much to the chagrin of the surfing community. Hurricanes in North America, ruining their space launch sites too... "

"All this we are aware of, Doctor," sighed Semeyanov. "Which is why we have been instructed to locate the source of this devilry... and assist our forces in putting an end to it."

The Doctor spun round and round on his chair suddenly. "But you're having no luck, are you?"

"Not yet," admitted Statsinsky grudgingly. "But we will."

The Doctor brought his chair to a halt. "You won't. He's using some very impressive shielding from your equipment. And some very impressive devices for locating the sites which have equipment which would have the power and range to detect him." He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Almost too sophisticated for this time period..."

"This is the best we have, excluding what we have at Nykortny."

"What you had at Nykortny," the Doctor corrected mildly. "Why do you think he destroyed it? And wrecked most of the other better sites?"

"But not everywhere," insisted Statsinsky.

"Oh no, of course not... he's not that exacting, and he doesn't quite have the capability to cover everywhere at once. It's also very probable he doesn't perceive such out-of-the-way stations such as yours as a threat." A slow smile spread across his face. "Which will be his undoing."

"How?" Semeyanov wanted to know. "How do we find him?"

"Boost the power?" suggested Varisov.

Statsinsky scowled. "We're practically at full power and full range as it is."

The Doctor shook his head. "No, that won't do. He will simply detect you and whistle up a storm to blot you from the map, just like he did to Cape Canaveral, and Woomera, and Fylingdales... and Nykortny." He rubbed his hands together gleefully. "No, we will simply use what we have here to trace him... and put an end to this reign of Flood, as it were."

Semeyanov folded his arms. "I say again, how?"

"Simple," the Doctor smiled. "What's the best way to track anybody?"

Semeyanov shrugged. "I don't know... put a bug on them?"

"Correct."

"You're going to bug him?" said Statsinsky in disbelief.

The Doctor grinned. "Oh yes, quite literally you could say," He pulled a watch from inside his jacket and studied it closely. "Any time now, I should think..."

***

It wasn't as easy to get captured as Chris hoped.

Possibly he'd over-estimated the abilities of the dark man's cohorts, or just possibly his own abilities had improved considerably during his travels with the Doctor. At any rate, things didn't go quite the way Chris had planned.

The two goons tried to jump him while he was in the bathroom, as he'd expected. He turned away from the wash basins after drying his hands to find them blocking the doorway. One of them lumbered forward, ham-sized fists clenching and unclenching. Chris tensed, dropping into a fighting crouch. The man swung an arm up and then down in a vicious chopping motion, aiming at Chris's neck. Chris flung an arm up and blocked the blow easily - too easily. The force of the impact barely shivered his arm. As he'd thought, the guys were all size and no muscle.

In response, Chris clenched his right fist and swung it towards the man's jaw. He pulled the punch slightly at the last moment but the blow took him square across the chin, sending him spinning round to crash through the doors of one of the toilet stalls. There was the dull thunk of a thick skull connecting with thicker porcelain, a grunt and then silence. The man's feet, protruding from the stall, twitched briefly and went still.

"Terrific," Chris murmured. He couldn't have done it better if he'd tried, which, in all truth, he hadn't.

The second man gave a yell and charged forward, arms out-stretched to seize Chris. School yard strategy. Chris merely took one step aside at the last moment and stuck out a foot. The man tripped over it, lost his footing, and hurtled head first into the wall. There was an almighty crash as his head connected with the hand dryer and the man slumped senseless to the floor. A head-sized dent remained in the metal unit.

"Oh great," Chris exclaimed. Knocking them both out wasn't part of the plan. He shook his head and gazed at the supine figures with disgust. "Man, is this the best you can do?"

"Oh, I think we can do a lot better than that, sir..."

Chris spun round to be confronted by the auburn-haired waitress. The seductive expression was still on her face, but her eyes were colder, hostile now. He blinked with surprise, and her right hand suddenly flashed towards him and Chris tried to jerk back, a little too late. Hard fingers bit into his windpipe, and suddenly he found he couldn't breath. He staggered backwards, gasping and choking, legs turning to rubber. He tripped over the feet of the second goon and tumbled backwards, striking the wall hard enough to see stars. He slid down it and sat on the floor, struggling to get his breath back.

The waitress stood over him, arms folded, gloating, face flushed with excitement. "How's that, sir?" she smirked.

"Not bad," Chris managed to croak, rubbing his throat. "I guess it answers the question I was wondering about..."

She arched a perfect eyebrow in query. "Which is?"

"Whether or not it was me or just my money you were interested in..."

She threw back her head and laughed, a high, evil sound in the confined space of the bathroom. "You or the money?" Oh dear..." She reached into the top of her uniform and plucked the chip he'd given her earlier for the drink from between her cleavage. "Keep the change, indeed," she chuckled darkly, flicking it at his face. "You know what you can do with this..."

Chris looked up at her and managed a wry smile. She was clever, keeping just out of range of his feet. It might be simpler just to sit back and let her capture him, but there was a weird light in her eyes that told him that might not be the healthiest option for him. The dark man would be bound to be sending reinforcements, but in that time he had the feeling this woman might do him some serious injury. He couldn't afford to be put out of total commission. Better to deal with her too - if he could...

"I can guess... but perhaps you'd care to show me?"

"Oh, that could be very painful for you, sir..." and the word 'sir' came out like a curse. There was a soft click and the lights flashed on something in her left hand - a wicked looking switchblade. She grinned evilly. "But I'm more than happy to oblige..."

She was still too far away. Had to get her closer... "I'm sure you're very obliging, but it occurs to me I might not be your type..."

Her expression hardened slightly. "What do you mean by that?"

Chris shrugged. "Well, I know that some of you macho female types have less of an interest in the likes of me and more in terms of... the fairer sex, shall we say?"

The woman's eyes flashed and she took a step forward - finally. "Not only am I all woman, Mr Cwej," she growled, raising the knife, "but I am also more of a man than you'll ever be. More so, when I've finished with you."

She darted forward, knife arm thrusting low towards his stomach...

Chris suddenly swept his legs across the floor, striking the woman across the ankles and taking her legs away from beneath her. With a yell she landed heavily on her back, but was dazed only for an instant, making to scramble to her feet almost instantly, knife still in hand. She was good...

But Chris was slightly better. He launched himself forward on his knees and slammed the heel of his right palm into her jaw. She fell back with a grunt, unconscious, knife clattering to the floor.

"Sorry, angel," Chris muttered, rising shakily to his feet. "Guess you're a firm believer in pride before a fall, eh?"

"Bravo, Mr Cwej. There are not many men who could take out Claus, Wilhelm and Amber in unarmed combat."

Chris jerked his head towards the doorway. Three newcomers stood there. Two men in black jump-suits with machine pistols flanked the dark man from the roulette table. A sarcastic sneer was etched across his face as he regarded the tableau before him.

Chris smiled. Finally... "Ah... Dr Kanara, I presume."

The dark man narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "Who?"

Chris sighed. "Cut the crap, doc... your disguise doesn't fool me. That wig is terrible, and those eyebrows... ugh."

"These are my real eyebrows," snapped the man, somewhat offended. "But how do you know my name?"

"Pays to know who your opponent is for an operation like this."

Kanara inclined his head. "Indeed. I too suspected you were more than you seemed. Your luck at the roulette table was too incredible to believe."

Chris grinned. "Man's gotta earn a living, doc..."

Kanara smiled icily. "And what is your living, Mr Cwej... if that is indeed your name."

"Oh yeah, that's my name... and my living?" Chris chuckled. "I just live, that's all. Live, and enjoy myself."

Kanara's smile faded. "But not at my expense." He motioned his guards forward. "Search him. Find what he was using to cheat me of so much money."

"Save you the bother," said Chris, reaching into his jacket. The guards raised their machine pistols warningly, so Chris hesitated. He glanced at Kanara. "May I?"

"You may not... remove it and any other items. Especially his ID."

One of the guards frisked him thoroughly while the other held his gun to his head. The guard doing the searching tugged a small black unit not too dissimilar from a pocket calculator from Chris's inside jacket pocket and held it up. Kanara took it and examined it closely.

"A very complex piece of equipment, Mr Cwej. Quite remarkable. How did you come by it?"

"That would be telling..."

"Ah, but you will..." At their feet the auburn-haired waitress groaned and stirred. "And I think Amber will be just the person to convince you so."

Chris glanced at her and winced. "She strikes me as someone who enjoys her work..."

"She does. In fact, she's incredibly enthusiastic about her work." A cruel smile flicked across his face. "As you will soon discover."

Chris put on a frown. "Now hey, I might have cheated a little to win on your roulette table, but isn't this more a matter for the police? In fact, I think I'd rather like to have the police here. I don't like being attacked while I'm in the middle of my ablutions."

"This is an internal matter, Mr Cwej. This is my casino, therefore it will be dealt with by my security people."

"But, er, the ones who attacked me are your security people..."

"Precisely," Kanara nodded.

"I got rights, you know..."

"Not any longer."

Chris smiled slyly. "And of course there are other reasons why you don't want the cops involved, aren't there?"

"There are?" Kanara glanced at the guard doing the searching. "Anything more?"

"No weapon, nothing, sir. Just this."

He yanked Chris's right hand up to display a large ring with a single clear gem sparkling in its centre. Kanara dipped his head forward to examine it.

"Diamond, Mr Cwej?"

Chris snorted. "Would I be trying to rip-off a two-bit joint like yours if I could afford proper diamond rings?"

The other guard growled a warning and raised an arm to strike but Kanara motioned him back. He nodded to the guard and he lowered Chris' arm to his side again.

Chris released a silent sight of relief. The way things were going he'd need that ring later on.

"Bugs? Listening or recording devices?"

The guard held up a small handset. "According to this, he's clean, sir."

"But of course," replied Chris innocently. "I shower every morning."

Kanara ignored him. "Wallet?"

"None, sir."

"No ID at all?"

"No, sir. There's nothing on him whatsoever."

"How very mysterious." Kanara glowered at Chris. "I think we need to find out a bit more about you, Mr Cwej."

Chris shrugged. "Open and shut book, pal. What you see is what you get."

"What I see I generally take, Mr Cwej."

Chris shot a look at the bodies lying around. "And evidently by force."

"Correct." He studied Chris closely, the light glinting in his strange maroon eyes. "You are most certainly not an open and shut book, as you put it. There are... depths, to you, Mr Cwej. There is a sense of... enigma, about you." He stepped closer. "I loath enigmas. They tax the brain unnecessarily."

"I'll try not to tax you too much then," remarked Chris dryly.

"You will not." Kanara narrowed his eyes. "Who do you work for, Mr Cwej? Which agency?"

"No one employs me, Dr Kanara. Not any more, anyway." Which was actually pretty true under the circumstances.

"You're lying." He prodded the woman on the floor gently with the toe of his shoe. "Amber, do get up now..."

The woman got slowly to her feet, rubbing her jaw. She glared murderously at Chris, who smiled apologetically.

"Sorry about that... I did pull my punch at the last. A bit of ice should take care of that bruise. Hope you didn't have a date or anything later this evening."

"I'll take care of your bruises," she growled, stepping forward, hand raised to strike. But Kanara stopped her.

"Not now, and not here, Amber. We shall take Mr Cwej with us, I think. He might make an amusing diversion on our journey."

The woman seemed to brighten up at that thought. Chris didn't, at least on the surface anyway.

"Journey? Look, pal, I'm booked on the early flight to Brisbane tomorrow and..."

"You are going nowhere but with us, Mr Cwej. Take him."

The two guards seized his arms roughly. "This is kidnapping," protested Chris.

"Only if I am caught, and I never am. Amber my dear, please go and see to our transport." He smiled coldly. "You and Mr Cwej can get reacquainted later on."

She smiled too, a predator's grin of even, white teeth. "I'll look forward to that."

Chris blanched at the thought. Time to get the rest of the plan into operation. He no longer fancied the prospect of an evening in her company.

He rolled his tongue to the end of his row of teeth and poked at the end molar. A tiny capsule dislodged and fell onto his tongue. Chris bit down onto it, releasing a slightly bitter taste. Almost immediately, the chemical went to work, and he felt his sinuses prickle.

Chris seemed to stumble slightly and his shoulders hunched. Suddenly he threw back his head and let out a terrific sneeze... right across Kanara's neck and back. Kanara stopped abruptly and swung round. He did not look happy.

"Sorry," smiled Chris. "I seem to be coming down with a bit of a cold. And I couldn't get to my hankie in time." He shot a meaningful glance at the guards holding his arms.

"That is unfortunate," replied Kanara coldly, removing his own handkerchief and dabbing delicately at his neck. "We must endeavour to ensure it gives you no further trouble." He flicked a look at Amber behind him and nodded slightly. Chris felt a sudden sharp pain at the base of his spine and he gasped and staggered forward. Only the grasp of the guards either side of him prevented him from falling.

Amber stepped forward into his line of vision, fist raised for another strike. But Kanara waved her away.

"A lesson in manners, Mr Cwej. Next time, turn your head away."

"Sure," Chris managed to gasp. Pain coursed through his lower body. He hoped it wasn't permanent. The right blow in that area could cripple you. "Whatever you say..."

Kanara nodded again and the guards started to drag him away. Amber nodded to the two men Chris had knocked out earlier.

"What about them?"

Kanara barely glanced at them. "Dispose of them. They have proved they are of no use to me any longer."

Amber grinned wide with sadistic glee, and the knife flashed her hand as she stepped forward to commit her grisly instruction. Chris glared at Kanara.

"Is that really necessary?"

"I do not tolerate failure, especially for the wages I provide." He glanced at the two guards darkly. "And a little demonstration of my termination of employment policy does wonders for staff motivation."

The two men looked nervously at each other. Even Amber paused from wiping the blood from her blade on the hem of her uniform and looked round uncomfortably.

Kanara jerked his head towards the door. "Move." He tucked his handkerchief away with a grimace, more concerned with the faint trace of spittle on his clothing than over the fate of his hapless bodyguards.

Despite his agony, and the dull fury he felt at the casual murder of the two helpless men, Chris had to hide a small smile of triumph. It would take more than a handkerchief to wipe that little germ away.

The Doctor's bug was now well in place.

***

"Now, this is more like it..."

The Doctor finished fiddling with Varisov's machine and studied the display intently. A trace was flashing steadily over somewhere in Thailand. Semeyanov leaned forward to examine it too.

"What's that?"

"My bug."

"You have someone with Kanara with a tracer?"

The Doctor chuckled. "Kanara is the tracer."

Semeyanov exchanged a look with Statsinsky, who leaned over. "What kind of a signal is that?"

"It's a radioactive element, expelled and placed upon the target through airborne droplets."

"And your agent had that on them? Bozhe moi."

"It's harmless... I don't go in for chemical weapons. But our good friend Dr Flood now has it swimming through his blood cells."

"And so does your agent."

The Doctor shook his head. "No. My, ah, agent, has been given immunity."

Statsinsky whistled. "That's incredible."

"Very," murmured Semeyanov slowly.

The printer by the machine suddenly chattered and began to print. The Doctor jumped up and studied the resulting printout closely, before tearing the sheet off and tucking it into his jacket. He patted the machine and stepped back, looking pleased with himself. "There you are, gentlemen. That trace will show you exactly where Dr Kanara is at all times."

"How can you be sure?" frowned Semeyanov.

"Being sure is my nature," snapped the Doctor. His face softened. "Relax, comrade. This problem will soon be over, and everything will be back as it should."

"What are we supposed to do?" blurted Varisov.

The Doctor looked at him. "What are you supposed to do when you find his hideout?"

A smile spread slowly across Statsinsky's face. "That's clever," he chuckled.

"Isn't it?" grinned the Doctor.

"But," said Semeyanov, holding up a finger, "we might lack the capacity for carrying that out. As you yourself said, he'll spot any aerial attack. That is the only means available to us, and I'm not even sure it is available."

"But what about an orbital attack, hmmm? He can't change the weather up there."

Semeyanov shook his head. "You confuse us with the Americans, Doctor. We have no Son of Star Wars, nor indeed anything resembling its parent."

"But the Americans do." The Doctor tapped the phone on the console before them. "I'd listen out for a phone call some time soon, if I were you." He raised his hat to the trio. "And now I must go and see to a few more of the details. Do excuse me, gentlemen. Nice to have met you."

He turned towards the door. Semeyanov jumped up from his seat. "You're leaving?"

"Needs must, comrade Colonel. I have other pieces to move as well." He smiled. "Just do what you have to do, and wait for that glowing commendation from the Kremlin." He winked. "You might even make General for this."

At that, and before anyone could do anything, he spun and dashed through the door, slamming it behind him. Varisov, ever eager, attempted to give chase but found the door was mysteriously jammed. It took all three of them several seconds to pull it open, and by that time...

He was gone.

"Back to your positions," sighed Semeyanov.

Statsinsky complied automatically, but Varisov remained in the corridor, blinking incredulously. "But Colonel, what... what..."

Semeyanov took his arm and led him back into the tracking room. "Sit down, son," he said wearily. "And keep your eye on that trace, hey?"

Varisov sat down but he was still troubled. "But what about that man?"

Semeyanov glanced at Statsinsky, who shrugged and turned back to his machine. He knew the best way to deal with this situation too. Semeyanov turned back to Varisov.

"What man?"

***

"Ritchie, where the hell is that weather update?"

The White House Chief of Staff was hurrying back through the increasingly busy corridors of the White House back to his office after a fraught meeting with the National Security Advisor, the heads of the CIA and FBI, and several high ranking military figures. Nobody seemed exactly sure what to do next. Headless chickens was the expression that came to his mind. Maybe things would settle down when the VP arrived, though he doubted it. He had his doubts about the leadership qualities of the President's running mate and, in case of dire emergency, successor. The guy would need a lot of help, and right now the way the Chief saw it, he wasn't going to get very much. Which was very, very bad.

Losing the President was bad enough, but the prospect of them losing the rest of the United States - the whole world itself even - was unbearable to consider. And that was what looked like was going to happen, if he - they - couldn't figure out what to do.

The aide he called to bustled out from an office and handed him a sheet of paper. The Chief glanced at it and scowled. "This is half an hour old."

The aide shrugged. "We're having trouble getting accurate readings. Satellite telemetry is being scrambled - badly. NASA are working on it."

"Terrific." How many billions did they spend on the space programme? He shook his head. "I guess the same applies to our attempts to track this Flood guy?"

"Yep."

The Chief considered for a moment. "If our stuff is being fouled, try the Brits or the Japanese. The NASA guys know how to bounce off their stuff."

"They might not like that... and besides, it seems there stuff is being scrambled as badly as ours. Hell, everyone's is."

The Chief pulled a face. This guy Flood was living up to his threats. "Get 'em to try anyway. If anyone squawks, tough." He waved him away and beckoned to another aide. "Colly, any more word from the local law enforcement in the area where the President went down?"

The woman shook her head. "Local PD can't even get close - weather too bad for 'em. National Guard are trying to get some heavier stuff in there, but so far there's been no word from their advance units. All telecommunication and computer links are down in that area." She shrugged. "Everywhere else isn't too hot either."

He didn't like the sound of that. "That's encouraging."

"The 101st Airborne have got units on the way, but road conditions are pretty rough and nothing is flying in that. And I do mean nothing," Including the bad guys, she was implying. Which ruled out an air snatch. That was something.

"How about the navy? If we got flooding, we'll need boats."

"Nearest naval base is working on it." Her tone suggested otherwise. The Chief nodded in acknowledgement.

"Okay, get me a link to their CO. Maybe I can offer a few subtle words of encouragement."

She grinned. She knew all about his subtle words of encouragement from experience. "You got it."

"I ain't got it yet."

"You're not in your office, so how can you?" The aide winked and disappeared.

"Ha ha..." The Chief stalked back to his office. "Everyone is a comedian today..."

He stopped dead in the doorway. There was a man sitting at his desk.

"What the hell..?"

"Good afternoon," said the man brightly, raising his straw hat. "I'm the Doctor, and I might be in a position to help you with a little problem you're experiencing..."

***

Roz peered out through the window. Below she could see searchlights crawling across the houses. They seemed to be coming from at least three boats, but she strongly suspected there were a lot more. They were probably concentrating on the area around the sheriff's office. The fire, accidental though it was, could turn out to be a useful diversion.

"Can't we lay low here?" asked Sobchak.

"No, they've got some pretty sophisticated tracking equipment. Infrared and heat-seeking stuff. It's only a matter of time before they track us down, with the rest of the town empty."

"What do we do? Try and fight 'em off?"

Roz glanced at him. "Too many of them and too few of us." She looked back out the window. "Besides, my instructions were not to engage them in a pitched battle." The Doctor had made his feelings on the subject quite plain to her and Chris. Quite plain...

The President came forward, O'Doyle sticking right by his side. "Tactical withdrawal, then?"

Roz grinned. "Couldn't have put it better myself."

O'Doyle frowned. "We'll need transport..."

"Yeah, that's why I wanted to capture that boat." She sighed and shouldered her weapon. "Just have to get another one then." She looked at O'Doyle. "How's your ankle?"

O'Doyle shifted her weight slightly. "Sore, but I'll get by."

"Sing out now if it isn't. There's a fine line between heroism and stupidity."

O'Doyle clenched her jaw. "I'm no hero, I just do my job. And I'm certainly not stupid." She nodded to the President. "I can make it just fine, sir. If it looks like I can't..."

"We'll deal with it," said Sobchak, glancing at Roz meaningfully. Roz shrugged.

"Fair enough. But to be on the safe side, I'd like you to stick with the President. Any fast moving needs to be done, me and Sobchak will do it."

Sobchak glanced at the others, and they all nodded. "Agreed."

"Good." Roz smiled tightly. "Now all we need is a plan..."

A searchlight beam flashed through the window and past, making them all duck. After a moment, Roz stuck her head up again. They were getting closer.

"And I think I have an idea..."

***

"A train? Is that it?"

Chris had been manhandled roughly out of the back of the casino and into the back of a large black van. After a very bumpy journey lasting several minutes, he'd been bundled out again, and now found himself standing in a deserted railway siding in what seemed like the industrial side of town. The night air was cool and refreshing after the smoky fog of the casino, and Chris took several deep breaths, clearing his head more.

They were facing a long, sleek black bullet train. Bathed in the moonlight, it looked like a gigantic centipede, heavily armoured with thick blacked-out windows, and a variety of antennae, dishes and masts protruding from all angles. It must have cost a packet.

Kanara got out from the limo that accompanied the truck and came round to stand before him, Amber close by his side. She'd changed from her waitress uniform into a tight-fitting crimson leather catsuit. It was gaudy, tacky, and very her. She fingered her switchblade, eyes never leaving his face.

Kanara too had changed. He'd removed the wig, his bald head glinting under the moon light, and he wore a darker version of the Nehru suit he'd been wearing in the casino. His face looked slightly different too, thinner, less pronounced. Chris guessed he'd worn some kind of make-up as well. He didn't really see the point, as it hadn't made him look very much different. But he supposed the idea of disguise appealed to Kanara's twisted mind.

But the change wouldn't effect the bug. At least Chris hoped it wouldn't.

A large metallic attach case was held in Kanara's right hand, which he carried very delicately. Chris tried not to stare at it. Kanara glanced at him.

"Quite an effective and unobtrusive way to travel, Mr Cwej. I need not worry about being detected on radar, and I can move the train into areas where I need not fear aerial bombardment."

"Very clever... I suppose," Chris grudgingly admitted. He was half-expecting some secret underground base set into a volcano, swarming with ninja mercenaries with space shuttles and a submarine or two. Perhaps he'd been watching too many bad movies in the TARDIS cinema. But the idea of Kanara becoming a moving target worried Chris slightly. He'd have preferred the man to stick in one place. He'd be an easier target.

Chris studied the train thoughtfully. It looked pretty formidable. He hoped whatever the Doctor had in mind to take it out was going to be up to the task. But that was the Doctor's problem. His problem was now to complete his mission and get out. Judging from the train and the heat around Kanara, that wasn't going to be easy.

But where there's a will, there's a way, he told himself. He kept himself looking cool and collected as he mulled over his options. Keep talking, he told himself. Keep 'em going.

"I guess it's okay, just so long as you don't run into the wrong sort of leaf on the track, eh?" he chuckled.

"Your stupid witticisms are becoming tiresome, Mr Cwej. I think the first order of business will be to let Amber cut out your tongue."

Amber grinned and stepped forward, holding her knife up. "My pleasure, sir."

"I, er, thought you wanted some answers from me?" Chris pointed out nervously.

"You can write, can't you?" Kanara replied bluntly, then turned away and waved one his guards forward. "Tell the engineer to be ready to get us underway in five minutes. And have Professor Briers and Mr McNamara report to me in my office with status reports on their activities."

The guard nodded and jogged away towards the head of the train. Kanara gestured towards a carriage. "Shall we?"

"I take it that's a rhetorical question," remarked Chris. He glanced at Amber and added: "That means he didn't really mean it as a question, it was more of a statement."

"I know what rhetorical means," she snapped, shoving him towards the train. Chris stumbled over a loose cinder and nearly fell, but managed to retain his balance.

"Temper," he warned. Keep 'em angry, he thought. Rage combined with an unbalanced state of mind equated a considerable drop in considered thought. Instinct rather than intelligence would kick in and that was when mistakes would usually occur... at least that was what the Adjudicator's manual said. Its teaching had kept him alive up until now... he just prayed it would continue to do so.

The trick was to remember applying the same principles to himself. He couldn't afford to make any mistakes now. If he did, he was dead.

***

The Chief of Staff slammed the phone down and studied the little man carefully for a moment before speaking. He still didn't look very convinced. And if he wasn't convinced, the two secret servicemen who'd appeared in his office seconds after he'd raised the alarm definitely wouldn't be. But the Doctor knew it was the quickest and best way to get his attention. Just as the easiest way to deal with the Russians was to by-pass official channels and get right to the heart of the matter, the easiest way to deal with a power structure like the Americans had was to go right to the top.

And in the absence of the President, the Doctor knew where the real power lay in the White House - this White House anyway.

"Okay," the Chief said slowly, "your story checks out with the UN. If they say you're a stand-up guy, Doctor, then I gotta go with that."

"Excellent," the Doctor beamed. "I do so hate red tape."

The Chief sighed. He still wasn't happy. "Under the circumstances, I don't have a lot of choice."

"Of course you have a choice," the Doctor replied. "You can argue the toss with the Vice President and the joint chiefs and Senate and whoever else, not get anywhere slowly, risk losing your President and surrender the fate of the planet to a dangerous madman."

"Well put," observed the Chief dryly. He waved away the two secret servicemen.

"Thank you," The Doctor tugged a folded sheet of paper from inside his jacket and pushed it across the Chief's desk. "This is the list of instructions for how to get the co-ordinates of the location of Kanara's location. You'll need to phone that number at the top first to establish contact with your, ah, new allies." The Doctor smiled at the thought.

The Chief picked up the sheet and glanced at it. He narrowed his eyes. "This is in Cyrillic..."

The Doctor blinked. "Is it?" He plucked the sheet suddenly from the Chief's grasp and looked at it. He clicked his tongue. "Silly me," he chuckled, and tucked it away and produced another sheet. "This is my translation. Excuse the spelling."

"The fact remains, this is Russian."

"Of course it is," said the Doctor patiently. "They have the only tracking station able to locate and keep a lock hold on Kanara's signal. But what they lack is the capacity to do anything about it." The Doctor glanced at the Chief. "That's your end of the deal."

The Chief raised an eyebrow. "Our end of the deal?" he repeated cautiously.

The Doctor's eyes twinkled. "Yes. By which I mean the use of one of those laser platforms you keep insisting you don't have in orbit."

The Chief blinked. "And we just give the Russians the co-ordinates to a link-up - just like that?"

"If you want to save the planet - and your President - yes, I'm afraid you do."

The Chief chewed his lip, then shook his head slightly before yelling: "Colly! Ritchie! Get in here."

Seconds later a man and a woman hurried into the room. The Chief thrust the sheet at the man. "Get this sent to strike command ASAFP. Tell them to follow those instructions to the letter and get the link back to my phone here when it's established."

"Right." The man ran from the room. The Chief turned to the woman.

"Has the VP turned up yet?"

"Yes sir, just now. He's with the Joint Chiefs."

"Good. Tell him in the absence of the President he's about to authorise the release of the co-ordinates of one of our worst-kept secrets to a potential enemy power, and then he's going to authorise the use of that worst-kept secret to deliver a surgical strike upon the soil of a friendly nation. Inform Admiral Forrest and General Hatcher of the situation and get them in there to, ah, liase with him. Give them ten minutes to convince him and then him ten minutes to decide that this is a good idea. If after that time he's still dithering, I'll give the word myself."

The woman didn't even blink. Such was the White House. "Right, sir."

She turned and hurried from the room.

"That doesn't sound very legal..." the Doctor murmured, a smile ghosting his lips.

The Chief just shrugged. "Well, if we left every decision up to some of these idiots, we'd still be working on the nine-hundred-and-seventy-third revised draft of the Constitution."

The Doctor grinned. "I think I know what you mean."

"If the President - I mean THE President were here, it wouldn't be a problem..."

The Doctor saw and heard the genuine concern in the man's voice. The Chief had worked long and hard to put the current incumbent into power (and keep him there), and not simply for political reasons. The two were good friends as well. The Doctor gave him his most encouraging smile. "Don't worry too much about your President. The matter is well in hand."

The Chief regarded him dubiously. "Really?"

The Doctor pulled out a pocket watch and examined it. "Yes, really... and speaking of which..." He stood up abruptly and turned to leave. The Chief stood up too.

"You're leaving?"

"Things to do, places to see, people to rescue." He paused. "About how long do you think you'll need to get everything ready?"

"About half an hour to get the link established. Maybe another half hour to get the satellite warmed up and aimed. I won't know for sure until Strike Command gets back to me."

The Doctor nodded. "An hour sounds right... good. That's about what I need." He suddenly reached into his jacket, produced a pencil stub and a dog-eared post-it note pad, and scribbled something. He tore the note off and slapped it onto the Chief's phone.

"That's my number. Call me when you are ready, will you?"

The Chief looked uncertain. "Uh, right... if the lines are working..."

The Doctor grinned. "My line is always working," He reached out and shook the Chief's hand vigorously. "Nice to have met you. And don't worry, everything will be back to normal before you know it."

With a final cheery wave he disappeared through the door. The Chief half raised a hand as if to stop him, then thought better of it and sat back down. He sighed.

"Back to normal? Now there is a depressing thought..."

The phone rang as he was still shaking his head. He picked it up. "Yes? Oh good, you got the link... okay, patch me through..."

He transferred the phone to his other ear, and waited for the connection to go through. He sneaked a look at his watch. One hour... geez, it was going to be a long one.

***

The phone in the tracking room trilled suddenly. Semeyanov found he was only able to stare at it, so Varisov picked it up.

"Da?"

The junior operator blinked rapidly at the response, and then held out the phone to his commanding officer with a hand that shook very slightly.

"Comrade Colonel, it is... the American White House. Wishing to speak to you."

Semeyanov reached slowly across and took the handset. His hand was shaking slightly too.

"Da?" he managed to rasp.

***

Roz and Sobchak slithered precariously over the rooftops. The driving rain made movement difficult as it was, but the roof they were moving over was sloping and very slippery under foot. And it could be a long tumble into cold black water too.

Noise wasn't really a problem, as the storm was making enough of that, and the noise coming from the boat engines would further limit their pursuers hearing. All the same, they kept low and as stealthy as possible.

There were two boats in the street below. Roz guessed they'd paired up for safety's sake. Three men were in each boat, a pilot and two gunmen. They looked pretty sharp under the circumstances. Probably their earlier failure and loss of comrades had sharpened them up a bit. Well, that was to be expected...

Roz clung on to a stove pipe and peered down. Shooting from this range was way too tricky. They'd need to get closer. She beckoned to Sobchak, who leaned forward to hear her above the storm.

"We'll have to go down," she called, jerking a thumb down at the street. She passed him her rifle. "Cover me until I reach the street."

Sobchak nodded, and lifted the weapon to high port, leaning back for support. Roz spotted a drainpipe and started to clamber down it. She lowered herself gently into the water - now up to her waist - and waved to the agent. Sobchak tossed the rifle down and quickly scooted down to join her. They hugged the side of the wall and watched the boats drifting along slowly, searchlights scanning the house fronts. Sobchak dipped his head towards hers.

"What about those detectors you said they had? Won't they pick us up?"

Roz grinned. "If we give 'em chance to," She pointed. "I'll get the second one with a grenade. You take the rifle and get the crew of the first one. Try not to damage the boat."

He held up a thumb.

"I hope you can swim," she added, then took a breath and ducked beneath the water. As she expected, it was cold and dark, but she could just make out the bulk of the boat from the searchlight beams above them. Feeling rather than hearing or seeing Sobchak submerge with her, she started to kick cautiously towards the boat along the bottom of the street. This was going to take crackerjack timing...

... This was going to take crackerjack timing.

***

The men in the boat were cold, wet, tired, hungry, and extremely fed up. But not so fed up that they weren't still sufficiently scared of the wrath of their employer to do anything about their unhappiness.

"Where the hell is that bastard?" one of them muttered.

"If friggin' Lorenz had got him when he shoulda..." added the pilot.

"Secret service guys are tough," offered the third. "Sneaky bastards. Real pigs to pick off."

The first man regarded him sourly. "You're a regular ray of sunshine, Cooper, you know that?"

"We should just blow up these friggin' houses," said the pilot. "That would shift him."

"Might come to that," said the third, patting the LAWS rocket by his side. "These babies really make ya shift."

The first glared at him again. "How's about that goddamn tracker, then?"

The third glanced at the equipment before him and shrugged. "Nada." He squinted up at the sky from beneath the broad peak of his crew cap. "Reckon the weather is screwing it up some."

The first clambered towards him. "More like you're screwin' it up some! Lemme see..."

"Hey," said the pilot suddenly. "What was that?" The other two looked round sharply.

"What?" said the third.

"I didn't see nothing, 'cept this goddamn rain," griped the first.

The pilot stood up in his seat and fingered the SMG slung over his shoulder. "Thought I saw something in the water over yonder..."

The other two clambered round to see where he was looking.

"Nothin'," snapped the first. "Just a piece of drifting crap, probably..."

"Naw, man..." murmured the pilot, wiping moisture from his eyes. "There was something..."

And that something suddenly erupted from the water about three metres from their boat. It pitched an object towards them and disappeared back beneath the seething surface before they could react.

Something thudded into the bottom of the boat and rolled against the third man's boot. He looked down.

"Grenade," he screamed, diving sideways.

It exploded. The blast caught the LAWS rocket and that exploded too. The boat practically disintegrated in a ball of flame.

The third man, in mid leap, was picked up by the blast and hurled into the side of a building. His slower reacting companions were engulfed in the inferno. His last conscious thought, as he slid broken and bleeding down the wall to disappear into the depths, was that LAWS rockets really do shift you...

***

Sobchak heard the blast beneath the water and kicked for the surface, emerging several feet behind his boat. Its occupants were gazing at the inferno dumbfounded, backs to him. He felt a slight twinge at gunning them down in this way, but it was them or him...

One of the men turned away suddenly. He spotted Sobchak in the water and yelled. The others started to turn as well.

The rifle bucked against his shoulder as he squeezed the trigger. He traced a livid burst of bullets across the men. Two went down immediately, one falling forward into the water, but the third - the one who'd spotted him - managed to dive towards the bottom of the boat and beneath the line of his fire.

"Shit," he exclaimed, and waded forward. The survivor rose up suddenly and fired wildly. Sobchak ducked down as bullets whistled overhead. He raised his weapon up and fired a return burst...

And the gun clicked on empty.

"Oh shit," he cried again, fumbling for the magazine before realising he didn't have any spares. It was the woman's rifle. He fumbled for his pistol...

"Ha," The survivor stood up, guessing the agents' predicament, and trained his weapon on him. He couldn't miss. He squeezed the trigger slowly...

"Hey."

The survivor jerked round, and something smashed across his face. He staggered back, tripped over the edge of the boat and fell into the water, emerging seconds later floating motionless face down on the surface.

Roz stood in the boat behind where he'd stood, tucking an extendable baton back into her belt. "You all right?" she called. Sobchak splashed across and Roz helped haul him aboard.

"Great," he yelled. "Looks like I owe you another one."

Roz shook her head. "My fault for not checking the mag properly. I owe you one."

Sobchak shrugged. "It happens. I'm alive, and that's what counts."

Roz smiled. Their eyes met and held for a moment longer than simple friendliness. "I reckon so," She patted his shoulder before moving towards the controls. "Let's go get the President, before someone else comes looking here. The explosion was bound to have been heard."

Sobchak crouched behind her as she gunned the engine. "Where will we go?"

"Somewhere higher up. This flooding is only localised."

There was a menacing rumble from somewhere behind them, and it wasn't down to the thunder this time.

"That sounded like it came from the dam," Roz yelled. "If that goes, we really will be in trouble."

"Then let's get the hell out of here."

She twisted the throttle and the boat sped forward, back towards the house and the President.

***

Chris was taken into what appeared to be a combined study and control room for Kanara set up in one of the centre carriages. One end was full of complex computer equipment and monitor screens showing a variety of data, graphics, and news casts, manned by a couple of studious looking dark jump-suited technicians / guards. The other end had a large important looking power-executive desk and matching high backed leather swivel chair, a large free-standing globe of the world dotted, mounted in a polished wooden frame, a plush black leather sofa, and a couple of other high backed swivel chairs facing the desk.

Kanara made his way down to the desk and sat behind it, placing the attach before him and glowering malevolently through hooded eyes at nothing in particular. Amber dropped onto the sofa and spread herself like some large and evil cat, while Chris's guards pushed him none-too gently into one of the seats before the desk and stood behind him. Kanara regarded him for a moment and then snapped his fingers. A door silently opened behind him and a solemn looking Oriental man in a butlers' uniform emerged and bowed before Kanara.

"Wun, a brandy and soda if you please."

The butler bowed again and exited.

"Don't I get anything?" asked Chris cheekily.

"Oh, you'll get something all right," growled Amber.

"My manners in respect to the treatment of guests are generally impeccable, Mr Cwej," drawled Kanara. "Alas, as you are not a guest as such, the normal niceties do not apply to you."

"That's a bit thick," replied Chris. "Least you can do is offer me a drink, I reckon." Kanara simply stared at him. "Oh go on... you never know, a drop of the good stuff might loosen my tongue."

"I'll loosen your tongue, all right..." murmured Amber. She was twirling her knife between her fingers and looking at him with a killer expression. "I won't need alcohol to do it either."

"It would simply be wasted on you, Mr Cwej. And I do so hate waste."

"Really? Why don't you tell that to those two guys you left dead back in the casino?"

Kanara narrowed his eyes. "They were a waste, Mr Cwej. A waste of my time and money." He nodded to Chris's guards. "If you want to feel more of a welcomed guest..."

The guards seized Chris's hands and forced them behind the back of the chair. One of them snapped a pair of steel handcuffs around his wrists so that he was fastened quite securely to the chair.

"Ouch," said Chris mildly.

"There," Kanara smiled slightly. "We'd hate to see you leave, after all."

"Chuckle, chuckle."

The rear door opened again and the butler returned with Kanara's drink on a tray. He bowed again and held it out for him to take. Kanara did so without a second glance and waved the man dismissively away. He took a sip, savoured the flavour for a moment, then spoke again.

"Send in Briers and McNamara."

One of the guards nodded and moved down to the other end of the carriage. He pressed a button and another door slid open, to admit a jittery-looking bespectacled man in his late forties dressed in a long white lab coat. Behind him came a burly heavily tanned man in his late thirties with a scarred, pitted face, dressed in a similar black jump suit to the guards, only his had gold piping running down the arms and legs. He too looked worried.

Kanara bade them forward, standing up and going over to the globe as he did. Both men glanced at Chris as they approached, but neither said anything yet. Clearly in Kanara's presence you were spoken to before you spoke. Kanara turned his attention to the man in the lab coat first.

"Professor Briers, what is the status of our operation? Is all proceeding smoothly?" Kanara studied the globe, which was speckled with tiny red markers. Evidence of Kanara's presence, or effect, Chris guessed.

A tic started to jump beneath the man's left eye. "Er, yes, sir, by and large, yes it is."

Kanara raised an eyebrow and rolled the globe easily on its mount. "By and large?"

"The power plant in satellite two, over the Indian Ocean, are starting to overheat, sir. I fear that it is to do with a malfunction with the solar storage cells."

"And?"

"Unless it is closed down soon, sir, I estimate," and he swallowed suddenly, "total shut-down within 24 hours. I, ah, also fear, that the same may, in time, happen to the other satellites..."

"Unacceptable," rapped Kanara, turning away from the globe and going back to his desk. "I need those satellites online and ready at all times. The one over the Indian Ocean I need to teach the land of my birth a lesson." He smiled cruelly. "I feel I have delayed the total destruction of Calcutta for too long. A cyclone, of terrifying strength, I think." He looked at Briers questioningly.

"Oh, er, yes sir, a very splendid notion," Briers practically grovelled. "But..."

"But?"

Briers flinched, as if the word had landed like a blow. "But I fear that will not be possible unless the satellite is taken off line and repaired."

"Impossible," Kanara shook his head. "You know we do not yet have the capacity for orbital excursions, therefore we cannot effect a repair in space. When the British government surrender the Devesham launch site to us in return for not totally submerging south-eastern England, then we can effect orbital repairs, Until then, you will make do down here." He leaned forward. "I want Calcutta in ruins before noon tomorrow, Professor. Or else," he warned heavily.

Amber chuckled throatily. Briers almost jumped and then swallowed again.

"Yes sir, absolutely. Depend on it, sir."

Kanara lips twitched into a smile. "How fares our other operations? The jamming and blocking of communications?"

"Proceeding as planned, sir. I'm delighted to report that the team have cracked the codes of another four satellites since we last spoke, and we are using them to cause further disruption."

If Briers thought Kanara was going to pleased at that news, he was mistaken. Kanara slammed his drink down. "Only four?" he yelled, making the scientist flinch again. "I expected the greater majority of the worlds' satellites to be under my control by now. And you tell me you have managed only four?"

Briers cringed. "It is not easy, sir. Some of the codes are difficult to break."

"Difficult to break by you and your fellow malingerers, you mean..." He glanced towards Amber, and she was on her feet in a flash, knife held to Briers' throat. The man went deathly pale, eyes bulging with fright.

"Please sir," he stammered. "I... we... are doing our best."

Amber looked at her employer almost beseechingly, knife pressed tight to Briers' quivering throat. For a moment, Chris feared he was going to let her do it, but he waved her aside. Amber looked a little disappointed as she dropped back onto the sofa, and Briers sagged, nearly so much that he fell.

"Be grateful, Professor, that replacements for you and your so-called experts at such short notice at this phase in our operation would be difficult, otherwise..."

Amber chuckled again from the sofa and drew a finger across her windpipe.

Briers let out a deep shuddering breath, and closed his eyes. "Yes, sir..." he whispered. "I'm sorry sir. We'll... we'll all try to do better."

"Don't try, Professor... DO do better," He waved him away. "Now get out of my sight."

Briers practically ran from the room. Kanara turned his attention to the other man, McNamara, who'd been standing looking on with a look of extreme apprehension on his brutal face.

"Mr McNamara, I need two replacements for Claus and Wilhelm. Try that Englishman, Montrose. He is generally reliable in providing reasonable quality people for demands such as ours."

"Killers, you mean," muttered Chris. One of the guards gave Chris a sharp poke in the back of the neck with the muzzle of his machine pistol.

McNamara nodded. "I'll see to it, sir." He spoke with a strong Australian accent.

"Now," Kanara sighed, stroking the sides of the attach case, "tell me how well my operation in the United States is going. Have our forces captured the President yet?"

Chris raised his eyebrows. Was that what the Doctor had sent Roz off to deal with? He prayed she was all right...

McNamara cleared his throat and shifted his feet uncomfortably. "The matter is, ah, in hand, sir."

Kanara gazed at him for a moment. "You mean you have failed to accomplish this task?"

"Not quite failed sir," the Australian insisted. "The helicopter was forced down as instructed and we are in the process of capturing the guy..."

Kanara made a play of looking at his watch. "That was nearly seven hours ago. How difficult can it be to find one man in a small flooded town with the number of men and equipment I provided?"

"It's not that simple, sir..." McNamara began, but stopped when Kanara gave him a look that would have frozen a live volcano.

"Do not presume to tell me what is and is not simple, Mr McNamara. I worked out that plan myself. It was simplicity in itself. Only a total idiot could fail to accomplish it." He picked up his brandy glass and twirled the liquid thoughtfully. "Are you a total idiot, Mr McNamara?"

Amber sniggered softly. McNamara shot her a look, then back at his boss. "No sir, but you see, a number of his bodyguard survived, and..."

Kanara suddenly hurled his glass at him. The object whistled past McNamara's face, missing him by millimetres, to smash against the opposite door. Expensive brandy dripped down the wall. The two technicians stopped what they were doing and gazed round fearfully.

"You craven cur," Kanara hissed. "A few half-drowned secret service agents should be no match for what I sent to deliver the President to me," Kanara flung up his hands. "Can I not once rely on my subordinates to get anything right without personal involvement from me?"

Shaken, but obviously possessed of a stiffer spine than Briers, McNamara valiantly struggled to press his case. "Sir, it's only a matter of time before we get him. Y'see..."

"How many have you lost?" Kanara rapped.

McNamara fell silent. Kanara's eyes flashed.

"How many?" he repeated dangerously.

"Two boats," the man grudgingly admitted. "And one is missing."

"Missing," shrieked Kanara, making even Chris wince. For the first time, Chris saw the true depth of madness lurking behind the icy facade. "Missing! You moron, there is every chance it is in the hands of the President and his people! He could escape."

"No sir," shouted McNamara. "We'll get him, I swear on it."

"Oh, we'll get him," Kanara purred, and the sudden switch from full-volume rage to silky menace was disturbing to behold. "But you," and he stabbed a finger at McNamara, "have forced me to adopt a more dramatic, and less satisfactory, measure. You have let me down, McNamara. You are a failure. A complete waste."

The Australian licked his lips desperately. "Sir, wait..."

"Briers and his team I still yet need. They are not so replaceable. But men like you are."

He snapped his fingers.

McNamara seemed to start, as if realising what was going to happen. He fumbled for the weapon holstered at his belt. He never made it.

There was a blur of motion, and a horrible wet punching sound, like a knife stabbed hard through a piece of unripe fruit. McNamara gasped and stiffened. Chris twisted round to look and saw the Amber's knife protruding from his forehead, buried up to the hilt. McNamara's hands flew up uselessly to his face, and he began to blink rapidly as blood started to trickle from the wound down his face.

Then he collapsed.

Kanara looked up at the guard standing to Chris's right, who was gazing pop-eyed at the corpse. Kanara snapped his fingers and the man glanced round.

"What is your name?"

The guard blanched. Being noticed by Kanara was obviously not a good thing. "Preiss, sir."

Kanara nodded. "Congratulations, Mr Preiss, you are now my new head of security. You heard my instructions to the late Mr McNamara just now. Go and see to providing replacements for Claus and Wilhelm."

The man turned hurriedly to leave but Kanara raised a hand.

"Better make that three replacements, Mr Preiss. And see about having that body removed, will you?"

"Sir."

Preiss saluted and ran from the room. Amber sauntered over to retrieve her knife. Accomplishing her task, she glanced up at Chris and gave him a ghastly smile as she wiped the blood clear from her blade on the chest of the corpse.

"Next, please," she chuckled malevolently.

***

Sobchak helped the President down into the boat, followed by O'Doyle. There were some waterproof covers at the bottom of the boat and Sobchak offered one to the President.

"Here sir - help keep the rain off."

The President gratefully wrapped the article around him. O'Doyle motioned him down.

"Keep low, sir. You'll avoid the worst of the spray that way."

Roz glanced over her shoulder, making sure everyone was aboard. "All set?" she called. Sobchak waved an affirmative. She turned back to the controls.

"Okay, here we go - hang on."

She twisted the throttle and sent the boat racing forward down the street and out of the town.

***

"You're trying to kidnap the President of the United States? Wow."

Kanara had opened up the attach case to reveal a very high-tech laptop computer within, and was busy typing instructions into it. He didn't bother to look up in answering Chris.

"Correct, Mr Cwej. And I would have succeeded, but for the incompetence of my staff."

"Well, maybe your plan wasn't as hot as you thought it was..." Chris smiled sarcastically. "A bad strategist always blames his forces, as the saying goes."

Irritably, Kanara glanced up at Amber. "My dear, when I've finished this, perhaps its time we discovered exactly who Mr Cwej is, and how much he knows."

Amber grinned, got up and sauntered over to stand behind Chris. She reached out and stroked his cheek. Chris shuddered slightly. Her touch was cold and slightly clammy. He tried to ignore her.

"What are you going to do with the President, Kanara?"

Kanara made a few more entries on the keyboard. "Since time is of the essence, and capture looks increasingly unlikely, I must revert to plan B." He stabbed the COMMIT button and the machine began to pulse softly, the green display flashing in time and illuminating Kanara's face to give him a sickly pallor.

"Plan B?"

"Correct." Kanara looked up. "If I cannot capture the President, then I must remove him from the equation."

***

"Is it me, or is the rain picking up?"

O'Doyle grabbed at one of the waterproof sheets as well and pulled it over her head as the rain started to pelt down again. Roz glanced up from the controls at the sky.

"I think you're right."

"Not a good sign," shouted Sobchak.

There was another menacing rumble from somewhere behind them.

"Neither is that," shouted Roz. "The dam again! I have a horrible feeling it isn't coping very well."

Suddenly a searchlight played across them. Roz whipped round. There was a boat closing on them fast from their right, and another one behind that. The storm had masked their approach as successfully as it had masked hers and Sobchak's when they'd mounted their assault.

"O'Doyle! Sobchak!"

But the agents had already seen them and were scrambling into position, picking up the assault rifles left behind by the previous occupants of the boat and taking aim. Muzzle flashes flared from the other boats and bullets began to whine overhead.

"Lousy shots," yelled Sobchak, ducking anyway.

"Watch your language in front of the President, Warren," yelled O'Doyle back.

"I said SHOTS," he yelled.

O'Doyle winked, and squinted down the barrel at the nearest boat before unleashing a burst.

Roz jammed the throttle as far forward as it could go and sent the boat careering across the choppy waters. Another kilometre or so and they'd be safe...

The President peeked out from beneath his cover at the bottom of the boat and pulled a face.

"Hell of a day," he yelled to no one in particular, before ducking down again.

***

The dam was well engineered but old, and in need of improvement. When Kanara's engineered storm struck it, it could barely cope. Now, as Kanara increased the strength of it, it could cope no longer. Not having anyone in its control station - the operator removed by Kanara's forces - wasn't helping.

Cracks began to appear in its concrete face and water began to seep through. Chunks of concrete began to fall away in its wake.

As if sensing its imminent victory, the storm increased its fury...

***

Kanara put down the phone, having just finished assuring Professor Briers that the satellite did have the power capacity to carry out his instructions.

"The President will soon be dead, and the world be plunged into further chaos." He smiled, pleased with himself. "And soon, they will be calling upon me to restore order." He jabbed a thumb into his chest. "My order."

"You evil, twisted, son of a..."

Amber seized Chris by the hair and yanked his head back painfully, cutting his insult off.

"Watch your mouth, sweetie... and show Dr Kanara some respect."

Kanara smiled at her. "Thank you, Amber. I think while we're waiting, we'll see what Mr Cwej can tell us." He nodded. "Please proceed."

Amber released Chris's hair and walked slowly round to face him.

She held up her knife before her face. It gleamed in the light.

"I'm going to enjoy this," she murmured.

***

Their pursuers aim was improving slightly. Bullets began to smash into the side of the boat, but the toughened frame seemed to withstand the impact pretty well. But the low sides didn't provide a great deal of cover, and as low as they tried to keep, it was simply a matter of time before a stray bullet hit someone.

Roz was in greatest peril. She couldn't crouch too low over the controls as she needed to see to pilot the craft, and she'd already felt a couple of near misses whistle past her head. She took the boat through a number of wild zigzag movements in order to make them less of a target, but the violence of the storm and the water made manoeuvring difficult to say the least, and it took all her strength to maintain control.

Sobchak raised up and snapped off a burst, but it went way wide. He cursed and ducked back as a return volley passed overhead.

Something tugged at his leg and he looked down. The President was peering up from beneath his shelter and had something in his hands. He hefted it up for the agent to see.

"Say, Warren, would this be of any use?"

It was a LAWS rocket.

Sobchak grinned.

***

Amber reached out and pushed Chris back, the chair reclining with him. Chris gazed up at her uneasily.

"Comfortable?" she smirked.

"Not really," he admitted.

"Shame." She held the knife before his feet, moving it from side to side slightly. "You a movie fan, Mr Cwej?"

"On occasion." He tried not to flinch as the blade passed within a hairs' breadth of his nose.

She grinned. "Ever see 'Reservoir Dogs'?"

"I heard of it."

"This reminds me of it..."

He cocked his head and managed a wry smile. "I can think of a better one... ever see 'The Rookie'?"

Her grin widened. "Clint Eastwood?"

"That's the one... you seen that?"

"I seen it." She rolled her tongue around the inside of her mouth. "And I well remember the scene you're thinking of... if that's what you're thinking..."

He grinned. "That I am."

She patted his face, not too hard, but not too softly either. "You should be so lucky." She studied him cruelly for a moment. "I figured you'd be an Eastwood fan."

"Actually, I'm more of a Sonia Braga fan..."

She threw back her head and laughed. "That's good! I like that... I like her too."

Chris grinned maliciously. "Figured you would."

She stopped laughing, and trailed the knife across his cheek. "Now I warned you before about saying things like that about me..." She pressed the blade against his skin slightly and a bead of blood popped up and trickled slowly down his face. Chris winced. "You want to be very careful about what you say about people... especially someone in your situation." She reached out with her free hand and wiped the blood from his face with the tip of one finger. She held it to her mouth and licked it off - slowly. Chris looked on with distaste.

"A vampire, too, huh?"

She shrugged. "I could get a taste for it... especially yours."

Behind them, almost forgotten by both prisoner and torturer, Kanara cleared his throat and leaned forward irritably. "Amber my dear, I appreciate that you derive a great deal of pleasure from playing with your victims, but time is rather of the essence. Please get on with it."

Chris craned his neck to look round Amber at him. "That's okay, I'm no hurry," He glanced up at Amber, who was scowling darkly. "He's really no fun, is he?"

She leaned forward so her face was practically pressed to his.

"Oh but he is... he's a scream." The knife came up between their faces. "Which is what you'll be doing in about ten seconds from now..."

She began to lower the knife towards his chest. Chris tensed...

***

The violent motion of the water around the boat and the heavy wind blowing sheets of rain into their faces didn't make for ideal aiming conditions, but Sobchak was going to try anyway. He lifted the rocket launcher up onto one shoulder and squinted through the sight at the nearest boat. Because of Roz's evasive manoeuvres their pursuers had closed some of the distance behind them, and they could see the dark shapes of the men hunched inside them. All the better.

Sobchak made a quick check over his shoulder to make sure the rear of the rocket tube was clear and tightened his grip on the trigger. "Fire in the hole," he hollered and squeezed it. There was a mighty whoosh and the fiery projectile shot from the tube and slammed into the brow of the lead boat - direct hit. There was a solid whump and the brow disintegrated in a blame of flame. Dimly they heard screams from the boat as it lost control and flipped over. The pounding of the elements made short work of the wreckage and the vessel was soon overwhelmed by the water.

Sobchak punched the air. "Yes," Roz whipped round to see and Sobchak gave her the thumbs up. She could only offer a tight smile in response.

The other boat replied with a renewed volley of fire and O'Doyle pulled him back down.

"Nice shootin', Tex, but there's still one more, remember?"

The President poked his head out again. "Can't find any more rockets, Warren - looks like you guys'll have to make do with..."

His voice was drowned out by an almighty roaring sound from behind them.

"Jesus, it's the dam," screamed O'Doyle. "It must have burst."

"Oh, we are in a world of hurt now," yelled Sobchak. He turned towards Roz. "We got more trouble."

"I heard," she yelled back. "Hang on."

She gave the boat everything it had and shot forward, hanging on for dear life...

***

Chris wasn't as completely supine as he seemed. While talking to Amber and Kanara, he had twisted the diamond ring round and manipulated his fingers so that it was facing approximately the steel link between the handcuffs that bound his hands to the chair, and worked at a tiny mechanism on its side.

It wasn't a ring, as such, and the gem was in fact a focusing element from a heavy-duty laser torch. The clasp it was set into was a tiny but powerful battery, and Chris activated it to use the element to cut through his bonds.

Just a little something the Doctor had knocked up for him in his laboratory. Chris was more in favour of explosive bootlaces and buttons, but the Doctor considered this more practical.

"You're not the Man from U.N.C.L.E., Christopher," he'd said, "and Kanara is a lot more lethal than anyone T.H.R.U.S.H. ever employed. I know from experience," Then he'd grinned, and adopted a terrible English accent as he held the ring up. "Now, pay attention double-oh-seven..."

It was risky - very risky. The heat generated from the element could burn through him more easily than the chain, and there was a strong risk someone would smell the burning and investigate.

The fact that he was doing this completely blind didn't help. The practice sessions he'd had in the TARDIS hadn't gone well either. He'd used up most of what the Doctor had left of his miraculous Sisterhood Salve to treat the burns. He had a feeling he was going to need a lot more.

And the motion of the train - smoother than most trains he'd been on, and he supposed Kanara had had it designed that way - wasn't helping either. For this kind of action he needed to be completely still, and he was far from that.

But he had no other choice now.

Amber took the sweat running down his face and the pained look on his face for fear, but in fact it was largely down to the concentration and suffering he was feeling in using the element. She didn't suspect a thing.

She trailed the knife down his chest, using the blade to cut through the buttons of his shirt and expose his chest beneath. She teased the blade across his exposed skin and he shivered slightly. Not so much at the feel of the cold steel, but because the element had just singed his palm.

She grinned. "The trick is, in knowing what to cut first."

"Spoilt for choice, eh?" he managed to croak.

She giggled, a high, evil sound. "I quite like being spoilt."

"I can tell."

She dragged the knife lower, to his stomach. "I'm certainly going to enjoy spoiling you," she drawled.

She tapped the tip of the knife on the buckle of his belt. Chris swallowed involuntarily.

"Supposing I were to break down completely now, and tell you everything you wanted to know?"

Amber's face fell. "You wouldn't?"

"It would save a lot of time if you would, Mr Cwej," remarked Kanara, still sat behind his desk watching Amber at work with a bored expression on his face, as if he were watching something rather unexciting on television.

"I'd like to be co-operative... perhaps we could work out a deal?"

The train rocked and he felt the steel link bend slightly. Nearly through...

Kanara smiled humourlessly. "Deal? The deal is, I don't let Amber cut pieces off you bit by bit."

"Ohhhhh..." she moaned, disappointed.

"What do I get?"

"A quick death. Amber can provide that too." He glanced at her. "I'm sure you can amuse yourself with the body for a while... like you usually do."

She pouted. "It's never so much fun when they're dead! They're so... unresponsive."

Chris coughed politely. "Well if I may be allowed to respond, that doesn't sound like much of deal to me."

Kanara sighed. "Mr Cwej, I am beginning to wonder if bringing you here were really worth the trouble at all..."

Behind his back, the steel linked snapped suddenly and his wrists jerked apart. Chris tried to remain calm, weighing his options before making his move. Amber was the main problem, but she was within easy striking distance. But he'd have to be quick. Besides Kanara, there were only the three remaining guards. The one who'd accompanied him since leaving the casino was leaning back against the wall, arms folded, watching Amber at work - at play, more like - with a lecherous smirk. He didn't look too bright and alert, but his machine pistol was swinging loosely by his side and within easy reach. He'd have to be double quick.

The other guard, Preiss, had seen to the removal of the body and then exited quickly. Possibly he wanted to make sure he didn't suffer the same fate as McNamara and was busy somewhere making sure he could keep his new position with his skin intact. Chris was surprised Kanara hadn't called in another guard to replace him, but perhaps he no longer considered Chris a threat in this state. His mistake.

The two stationed at the computer equipment by the far end were less of a problem. They were studiously engrossed in their work, headphones in place. They had sidearms holstered by their hips, but it would take them time to react. Just enough time for him to do something about it, he hoped...

Time to find out. He tensed himself. Amber gazed down at him almost dreamily through heavy-lidded eyes. The last thing she'd be expecting was...

"Oh no, Doc... no trouble at all."

Chris propelled himself forward, swinging his right arm up with as much force as he could muster, landing a solid uppercut at the base of Amber's chin with enough force to send her hurtling backwards, out cold, over Kanara's desk. She crashed into the doctor, pitching him from his chair, and they both sprawled in a heap behind the desk.

The standing guard shook himself from his torpor and started forward, swinging his machine pistol free. Chris spun and dived forward, grabbing the man round the middle in a rough rugby tackle and sending them both to the floor. The impact winded the man completely but Chris finished the job by smashing him across the jaw with a double-handed blow.

The two technicians yelled, leaping up from their seats and drawing their weapons. Chris rolled, groping for the machine pistol, and brought it up just as the two men brought their weapons to bear. They froze. Chris jerked the muzzle.

"Toss your weapons over here, then get down on your stomachs and kiss the floor. Move!"

They complied easily enough. Serving under Kanara had possibly taken the fight out of them, but it paid to be wary...

Sound of movement behind him made him jerk his head round. Kanara had untangled himself from Amber's unconscious form, snatched up the attach case and flung himself towards the rear door. No stomach for a fight, obviously, Chris thought.

Chris jumped up and swung the machine pistol round, raking the door with a burst. He had no qualms about shooting Kanara. But the mad scientist was quicker than he looked and managed to dive through in time beneath the volley and the door whispered shut behind him. Chris ran over and tried to follow but it refused to budge. He slammed a fist into it. "Damn it," he snarled. If he could have got him and that attach case...

He returned his attention to the two technicians. They hadn't budged, and stared up at him fearfully. He jerked his weapon towards the door behind them.

"Beat your feet! Go on, scram."

The two men didn't need telling twice. They scrambled to their feet and rushed out. Chris followed them up and made sure that door was secure. It was a thick steel affair with secure bolts, probably designed to be bullet, bomb and flame proof. Tricky to get through. Chris was thankful for that.

Having blocked that way, he had to make sure of the other. This door didn't have bolts. Quickly Chris ran round to the other side of the desk and heaved it forward, so it was blocking the entrance, then backed it up with the heavy globe. It wasn't much of a barricade, but it would have to suffice.

He had to roll Amber out of the way first; she was out cold, a livid bruise blooming across her jaw. She should be out for a while, long enough for him to do what he had to do anyway. To be on the safe side, he pulled his belt free and bound her wrists behind her back with it.

"Sorry, angel," he murmured as he secured the knot. "This is getting to be a habit..."

"Time for phase four..." he muttered, going back to the computers where he started typing in instructions. A monitor above one of the work stations cleared and went blank.

Unseen or unheard by him, Amber groaned softly and began to stir...

***

The Doctor stood back in the basement of his house on Allen Road and examined the lash-up he'd just created, chewing his lip thoughtfully. He held up two small pieces of circuitry and studied them.

"I'm sure these were supposed to go in there somewhere... oh well."

He tossed them carelessly over his shoulder, where they landed among the other bits and pieces of circuit, wire, computer and other electrical items that was forming a messy pile on the basement floor. He walked round to the front of what he'd been working on; the large wooden framed colour TV set from the lounge upstairs had a video camera connected precariously to its top, facing a worn-out armchair covered in a faded tasselled floral material. The Doctor's straw hat hung from one corner, his umbrella from the other. A small folding table sat by one side, on which lay a tray with a large brown teapot, a cup and saucer, a half-full glass pint of milk and a plate half-full of digestive biscuits. An old-fashioned telephone sat next to it.

On the other side of the chair, completely at odds with the ramshackle device facing it, was a gleaming new PC, monitor, keyboard, mouse and all, sitting on a wheeled trolley. A screensaver was going, showing a variety of tropical fish, beautifully etched in multicoloured pixels, swimming across the screen.

The TV was festooned with multicoloured wires and cables which snaked in all directions. The Doctor nearly tripped over one moving round. He reached forward and turned the ON switch. Immediately there was a loud buzzing and a plume of smoke rose from the back of the set. The Doctor hurriedly switched it off, rubbed his chin thoughtfully, then clicked his fingers.

"Now I remember what they were for!"

He dashed over to the pile and started hunting through it for what he'd just thrown away.

The PC chirped suddenly and the fish faded away to be replaced by a white screen, blank but for the legend INCOMING flashing in its centre. After a moment, that faded to be replaced by the words:

WHAT'S UP DOC?

***

Chris allowed himself the luxury of one of the technicians seats as he stared up at the screen anxiously, where his message was blinking. "Come on, come on... be there."

A new message suddenly scrolled across.

WELL DONE CHRISTOPHER. I HAVE A LOCK ONTO THESE CO-ORDINATES. NOW MAKE LIKE A DRUM AND BEAT IT

Chris chuckled, then typed:

GLADLY. ALL WELL YOUR END? HOW'S ROZ?

After a second:

MY END FINE. HOW YOURS ;-) ROZ FINE. WILL PICK UP SOON. DON'T HANG ABOUT.

"I heard that."

Chris rapidly cut the link and cleared what he was doing - just in case. The Doctor wouldn't welcome Kanara tracing him back home. He was halfway through achieving this when the door at the other end began to reverberate to several heavy blows. He shot a look at it.

"Uh-oh..."

Standing, he finished up what he was doing and turned to leave. Well, almost. First he had to figure out the best way to go. Fighting his way through the train didn't appeal, which left...

He hurried over to one wall, and located a switch. He threw it, and a metal shield raised quietly to reveal a window, the darkened countryside rolling smoothly by outside. But not too quickly by. Good. Now all he needed was something soft to land on. He peered out, and saw moonlight glinting on water. The train was passing over a low bridge over some sort of long lake or river. That would have to do.

He looked for a control to operate the window, but there didn't seem to be one. Kanara was obviously a man who didn't believe in the merits of fresh air

He rapped on the glass. Solid. Not too solid, he hoped. He snatched up the machine pistol and stepped back from it, ducking down behind the sofa. He raised the weapon from above it and pointed it towards the window.

The door behind him crashed again, straining against the desk barricade.

Chris squeezed the trigger and emptied the clip into the window. The bullets smashed against the material and ricocheted all over the room. Several bullets slammed into the sofa. When the clip was empty, Chris raised his head. The glass wasn't broken, but it was starred and crazed, a spiders' web of cracks running across its surface. Weakened just enough for one good blow - he hoped.

He tossed the empty weapon aside and hurried forward. "That should do it..."

His feet tangled in something as he passed and he looked down.

It was his belt.

Realisation hit. "Oh sh-"

A sinewy arm locked around his windpipe, dragging him back...

***

"All is ready, comrade Colonel. The Americans should now have our co-ordinates locked."

Semeyanov slapped Statsinsky's back and grinned broadly. "Excellent work, comrade," He glanced at Varisov. "Both of you."

He reached for the phone with one hand, and his cigarette pack with the other. Well, he had to celebrate this some how...

***

The Chief drummed his fingers on his desk, staring sightlessly at the paperwork he'd had open for the last thirty minutes. He hadn't done anything to it. He couldn't. The Flood Situation occupied all his thoughts. He sighed heavily and glanced at the clock mounted above his door.

"How much longer?" he muttered.

As if in response, Colly's head popped round his door.

"Sir - they just called. It's on."

The Chief grinned broadly and gave her a thumbs up. Then he reached for the phone, peering at the number on the little post-it note.

***

The Doctor finished with the PC and gave the trolley a little shove away from him, allowing it to get on with the task he'd set it without him. He never really liked using computers much. Soulless, they were. Or at least, most of them. But occasionally, just occasionally, they were very necessary. Like now, in getting it to seek out and shut down all of Kanara's satellites. The Doctor had been able to trace them thanks to the brief link Chris had been able to provide to Kanara's mainframe. Victory, such as it was, was academic.

It was simply the method of victory that remained to be settled now. The Doctor had grave feelings about how it would be settled too.

He settled back into the armchair with a sigh and reached for his teacup, He took a sip and studied the TV set over the brim. It was working perfectly now, especially after he gave it that little tap with the cricket bat. Funny how the most technical seeming of problems could be solved with the least technical of solutions sometimes.

Something rubbed up against his ankle and the Doctor reached down absently to ruffle the fur of the cat that was brushing past him affectionately.

"Hullo, Wolsey," he murmured. "Come out of the TARDIS at last, have you?"

The cat glanced up at him indifferently and started to lick at a paw.

"You'll like my house. Lots to explore," He wagged a finger. "But no killing mice or birds, understand?"

Wolsey stopped licking himself and twitched his ears, as if to say: just you try and stop me.

The phone suddenly rang. The Doctor set his cup down and picked it up on the third ring.

"Yes?"

***

Roz tried not to look back at the huge wall of water that was rolling towards them and concentrated on steering the boat. The sound of the approaching deluge was deafening. The others were trying not to stare too but the sight was curiously hypnotic.

"Jesus, Mary and Joseph," muttered O'Doyle, clutching at the cross beneath her sodden shirt.

"Amen to that," murmured the President in reply. He couldn't hear her, but he could see her lips moving.

Sobchak was still covering the other boat, but that had given up trying to stop them and was now trying to outrun the mammoth wave too, its occupants clinging for dear life as well. But there was something wrong its engine; possibly a stray bullet had caused some damage, and the vessel was slowing gradually. It suddenly started to weave erratically and smoke started to pour from its engine. Its speed dropped off dramatically until only the motion of the water was bearing it along.

Sobchak fancied he could hear the men in the boat yelling and screaming.

But not for long.

The massive grey wall rolled towards and over the stricken vessel. One of the men jumped clear at the last moment, though what good it would do him Sobchak couldn't imagine. The boat rolled over, spilling the other men and everything inside, and then was swallowed up.

"Poor bastards," he heard the President shout. Sobchak shook his head. Only minutes ago those 'poor bastards' had been trying to kill them. He felt little pity, but then he wasn't the President of the United States. He guessed the President had to feel sympathy for even the worst of his enemies.

The wave rushed forward, gaining on them.

"We'll never make it," he heard O'Doyle scream. "We'll never make it!"

Roz darted a look back, a look of fierce determination on her face.

"Oh yes we will," she yelled.

The little boat sped on...

***

"You wanna work on your knots, boy... guess you never tied a gal up before, huh?"

Chris was being dragged backwards through the carriage by Amber. She'd managed to seize one of his arms as well and was gamely trying to force it further up his back. Chris clawed at the arm around his throat with his other hand, trying to struggle free. The woman was a hell of a lot stronger than she looked.

Her face was almost directly opposite his. He managed to twist his neck round slightly to look at her. "Maybe... you... could... give... me... second... chance?"

She laughed. "I'm very choosy about who ties me up, sugar. When I let it happen at all. But you... now you, I'm gonna string up like a turkey..." She twisted his arm visciously, making him gasp. "And then I'm gonna butcher ya."

"Swell..." Chris choked out, and then lifted his feet off the ground and leaned backwards. As he suspected, she couldn't bear his weight and fell over. She gasped explosively into his ear as the wind was knocked from her and he felt her grip slacken - slightly. He wrenched himself forward and managed to struggle up. She managed to keep a steely grip on his arm, rising with him, other hand lashing out for his face and eyes. He ducked in time and swung his free hand back at her in return. She didn't quite duck in time, and his open palm took her right across the face. She cried out and fell over, letting go of his arm.

Chris staggered backwards, gasping and rubbing at his throat. The arm she'd twisted was slightly numb and felt funny. He hoped she hadn't broken anything.

The door under attack suddenly slammed forward again and the desk shuddered forward a few inches. Burly shoulders forced their way into the gap and began to heave. It would be a matter of seconds before they gained entry to the room.

Chris seized one of the chairs, and raised it above his head, as if to strike. At his feet, Amber cringed and cried out, hands raised protectively above her head.

Chris swung round and hurled it towards the damaged window with all his might. The toughened glass gave in under the impact and fell outwards into the night, the chair falling with it.

He took two steps and dived out after it.

The door crashed open, and a veritable flood of guards swept into the room - followed by Kanara.

"Cwej," he screamed. "Where is Cwej?"

Amber scrambled to her feet. "Out there," she yelled. "And I'm gonna get him!"

With that she dived out of the window as well.

The guards pressed forward towards the window as well, one of them making to leap out too. But Kanara stopped them.

"Wait! I have a much better method of dealing with them - both of them."

***

"Tie yourselves to the boat! Quickly! And put those lifejackets on."

Roz realised they had no chance of outrunning the flood, but there was a slim chance they could still survive it - if they were lucky.

O'Doyle uncoiled a length of yellow nylon cord she'd found in a locker in the stern along with the lifejackets and rapidly began securing it to the boats structure. Sobchak grabbed two lifejackets and lurched forward towards Roz, shrugging into one and holding the other out for her. She grabbed it and waved him back.

"Get down in the bottom with the others and hang on."

"What about you?"

"I'll be okay. Just do it!"

Sobchak turned to go, then hesitated, and turned back.

"Say, if we get outta this... you free for dinner, or something?"

She glanced at him, an amused look on her face.

"Or something?"

He couldn't quite tell if that was a question or an answer.

The boat rocked sharply, sending him tumbling backwards to fall heavily on his back. He grunted and lay still. Roz managed to hold on time to avoid following him. She looked back at him, a worried look on her face.

"Sobchak? Warren?"

He managed to raise his head and smile, albeit painfully, then gave her the thumbs up.

She grinned, managed to return the gesture, and turned her attention back to steering the boat.

O'Doyle had already lashed the President securely to the boat frame. He dipped his head towards hers.

"You know, there are supposed to be places in DC where people pay good money for this kinda thing."

O'Doyle had to grin. Joking to the last. Gotta love the guy. "Just leave the money on the night stand, sir."

She turned to help secure Sobchak, then went to work on herself. The boat dipped and lurched suddenly and she looked up.

The flood was right on top of them.

"This is it," she screamed.

The boat was picked up and flung sideways.

Suddenly, their world turned to water.

***

The Doctor placed the handset down, and stared into space for a moment.

Then he leaned forward and switched the TV-device on.

He cleared his throat, and got ready to talk.

***

Kanara gazed around the ruins of his study, incandescent with rage. The destruction of the room seemed to have upset him more than the escape of Chris.

"Clear this up! Get me a new desk at once!" He pointed a shaking finger towards the hole where the window once was. "And get that closed!"

The guards started to busy themselves to comply. The window was re-shuttered.

One of the guards checking over the computer equipment suddenly looked round. "Sir," he called. "There's a signal coming through."

"What?" Kanara swept forward, shoving people out of his way. "A signal? From who?"

A screen above his head suddenly crackled into life and a face grinned down at him.

"Who indeed," it boomed. "Hello, Ronaldo. Or should I call you Dr Flood?"

Kanara bared his teeth. "Doctor," he hissed.

***

The Doctor leaned forward to look at Kanara on the TV screen. Wolsey took one look at the hate-filled face and made a hasty retreat, out of the basement up the stairs and back into the house. The Doctor couldn't blame him.

"Ronaldo, what do you think you're up to, eh?"

"Don't call me that," Kanara spat.

"It's your name. Why shouldn't I use it?"

Kanara started to call the Doctor a few names as well, at the top of his voice. The Doctor shook his head and clicked his tongue.

"Language, Ronaldo! Really, you should watch that temper of yours."

Kanara waved a fist at him. "You! You are responsible for this, aren't you?"

"Responsible for what?" the Doctor drawled.

"The failure of my plan to capture the President... and this man Cwej... I should have realised he was one of yours."

"Young Christopher? Is he still there?"

"He is gone, but he will not enjoy his freedom." Kanara's face twisted and he slammed his laptop down onto the console, and began to alter the settings. "Let us see how he enjoys running through a typhoon, eh?"

"I wouldn't do that if I were you, Ronaldo. I really wouldn't. In fact, I think you should turn off your little toys completely, and surrender to the proper authorities."

Kanara gazed up at the Doctor incredulously. "Ha! Surrender? Are you mad?"

The Doctor narrowed his eyes. "Only with you, Kanara. Cease and desist, or face the consequences."

"Consequences? Consequences?" Kanara dissolved into peals of insane laughter.

The Doctor shook his head sadly. "I make no joke, Ronaldo."

Kanara's laughter ceased and he glared up defiantly at the Doctor. "And I make no joke either, Doctor. I shall destroy your little friend, and then I shall track you down and destroy you."

"There is an orbital weapon pointed right at you, Ronaldo. Quite literally at you. I can put a stop to you and your grubby little scheme with a single telephone call."

"You daren't," Kanara crowed. "I know you, Doctor. I know how the taking of life is an anathema to you." Kanara thudded a fist into his chest. "Even the life of your mortal enemy."

The Doctor sighed, disgusted. "You're nowhere near being a mortal enemy of mine, Ronaldo. You're just a twisted little maniac who's chosen to use what modicum of intelligence and opportunity has been provided for you to wreak misery on millions." The Doctor leaned forward, eyes dark with sudden fury. "And for the sake of those millions, and the millions more who would suffer because of you, I'm prepared to forget my principles - for once."

Kanara blinked at him, and for a brief moment the Doctor thought he had him convinced.

Then his face twisted again and he bent towards his machine, stabbing at the controls.

"You are bluffing! But I, I, Dr Flood, I am not bluffing!" He glared up at the screen once more, completely insane. At the top of his voice he shrieked:

"I SHALL DESTROY YOU ALLLLLLL!"

The Doctor leaned forward and switched the set off. He couldn't bear to watch it any longer.

"I'm sorry, Ronaldo. You could have been so much more... so much better..."

He sighed and rubbed his brow, then reached for the telephone again.

His hand was shaking slightly.

***

The Chief's phone rang. He snatched it up before the first ring had finished.

"Yes?"

He listened to the voice on the end for a moment, then nodded. "Okay. Thanks. And may I say-"

The line went dead. The Chief blinked and looked at the phone for a second, then punched the rest to clear the line, and dialled a different number. It was answered almost immediately.

"This is Harpoon. You have a green light to go with that strike."

The voice on the other end confirmed that, and the line went dead.

The Chief replaced the phone and sat back to wait.

***

The water was cold, dirty, and tasted of diesel, but it had broken his fall surprising well. Chris trod water and watched the train vanish down the track into the distance. He was slightly surprised it hadn't stopped, but then by now hopefully something - someone - else had grabbed Kanara's attention, and he'd be forgotten.

And after that... Chris realised it might not be too healthy to remain in the vicinity of the train now, so he started to kick powerfully through the water towards the other side of the shore. If need be, he could duck back beneath its surface, depending on the type of weapon the Doctor was employing. If it were nuclear, it wouldn't matter where he hid, but he doubted very much that the Doctor would resort to that. No, it would be some other HE missile strike, or possibly an orbiting laser platform...

Something splashed slightly in the water behind him and he stopped swimming and turned around. Perhaps someone had got off the train after all... that wasn't good. He strained his eyes to look but could see nothing, not hear anything further. Perhaps it was just an animal or fish...

As he swam, a soft rain began to fall. The rain intensified, and a stiff breeze began to pick up, making the water choppy. The temperature also began to drop. Only moments before, it had been a balmy summer night in the tropics. Chris had a horrible suspicion about why the weather had changed so dramatically suddenly, and he began to swim faster, trying to reach the other side before the water became too rough. Tired and bruised from his earlier battles, Chris doubted he had the strength for much more exertion. All thoughts of potential pursuers faded as he struck out as hard as he could.

He had no desire to be the final victim of Kanara's evil scheme.

***

"Colonel, the Americans have locked onto the target..."

Semeyanov bent towards Statsinsky's screen and nodded. "So it would seem..."

He glanced at Varisov, who sat pale faced and motionless at his station, and chuckled. "Bet you thought you'd never be a strike aimer for the damn Yankee imperialists, eh?"

"No, Colonel," he murmured. "I didn't expect anything like this."

Semeyanov exchanged a look with Statsinsky. The boy had never experienced combat like this, he realised. He could barely remember his first strike. Only that... he felt vaguely ashamed. Uncle Gennardy, before the cancer had carried him away, had always told him that an enemy should see the face of the man that killed them. It was only proper.

Semeyanov didn't even know what this enemy looked like. And he didn't think he wanted to. How can you have nightmares about the faces of those you did not see? Gennardy had had nightmares... nightmares of the men he'd looked in the face before he'd killed them. The dead's revenge. Perhaps, deep down, that was what Gennardy meant. Perhaps one needed the reminder, even in nightmare.

He shivered suddenly. On the screen, the flashing trace blinked...

And blinked.

And blinked ...

***

Chris had almost reached the shore when he felt something brush his leg. At first he thought it was simply a piece of floating vegetation or other debris.

But then it brushed again, with more force.

And then grabbed.

His cry of surprise was choked off as he was tugged beneath the water, and he got a good mouthful of the stuff before he shut it. The water stung his eyes and he blinked desperately to clear the bluriness. The pressure around his ankle suddenly went up to his calf, and then to his thigh. He twisted his torso just in time to avoid a blow to his groin, the hard fist that struck there glancing off his inner thigh.

He looked down.

Amber hung in the water just beneath him, a pale, spectral figure in the gloom, her long red hair tangling and billowing around her head and shoulders like a storm cloud. She was grinning, bubbles drifting from her mouth and teeth, and that grin made Chris think of a shark.

She kicked upwards suddenly, hands raised and clutched into talons, reaching for his face.

Chris kicked both his legs out and caught her in the chest, sending her tumbling away. Dimly he heard her bellow, more bubbles erupting from her mouth. Chris turned and struck for the shore again. He had no desire to tackle this vixen underwater. He preferred solid ground beneath his feet when he fought, and if he could make the shore before her...

He crashed to the surface, where conditions had worsened dramatically. Lightning now arced through the sky and thunder rolled and beat at his ears. Huge raindrops pounded the water and his body with enough force to sting him. One of those direct in the eye would be sufficient to blind, and he kept his face turned to the surface as he swam frantically through the raging water. His kicking feet suddenly struck solid ground and Chris lurched forward on his feet, staggering up through the shallows towards the tree line beyond. Maybe he could get a branch, something, for a club...

Thunder boomed again, all but blotting out the bezerker scream that shrieked behind him, and Amber erupted from the water behind him to jump across his back, driving him back into the water. Strong hands forced him down, pressing him against the muddy floor. His forehead struck a rock and stars bloomed across his vision ...

***

"Mr President! Mr President!"

The President felt something slapping against his face and he awoke with a start. He sat up and choked, coughing up a stream of water. His vision was blurred, and the face of the person bending over him was completely unrecognisable, though the voice was maddeningly familiar. It took a few seconds to realise that he'd lost his contact lenses. He hurt like hell all over, and the hard surface of whatever he was lying on wasn't helping. He felt totally disorientated.

"Where the hell am I?" he managed to croak.

"You're still in the boat, sir."

"Boat?"

"Don't you remember, sir? The boat we used to get you out of the town."

He coughed again. It felt like he'd swallowed about ten gallons of water, and he was soaked through. "Dimly, er... ah..."

"Sobchak, sir. Do you remember who I am?"

"Sobchak, yes. Warren Sobchak. And I'm... the President?"

"That's right, sir. Very much so."

"I'll be damned. It wasn't a dream, then?"

"No sir, no dream."

"No, more like a nightmare..." He started to struggle up but Sobchak pressed him back down.

"Lie still sir. The rain has stopped, and the flood has subsided, but the boat ain't in great shape. Mabel is still baling us out, but I think we're gonna make it."

"Mabel?"

"Mabel O'Doyle, sir. She's one of your detail, like I am."

The President craned his neck and dimly made out someone at the other end of the boat scooping water out with some sort of container.

"O'Doyle, yes, I remember her... hey, O'Doyle! How are you?"

"Right as rain, sir, if you'll pardon the expression," came back her tired voice.

The President chuckled slightly, and looked around him.

"Wasn't there someone else?"

Sobchak hesitated.

"Yes sir, there was."

"The woman... Forrest, or something?"

"Yes sir. Roz Forrester."

"Where... where is she, then?"

Sobchak glanced forward towards the bow, and the control position.

It was empty.

"She's... gone, sir," he replied quietly, a lump forming in his throat.

The President's face fell. "Damn... did she... did the flood get her?"

"I think so, yes..."

The President reached up and squeezed his arm. He could see the suffering on the man's face. "She was a good soldier, Warren. We owe her much. I regret very much that we can't thank her for what she did." He looked the agent in the eye. "But she won't be forgotten, Warren. I'll make sure of that."

Sobchak smiled sadly. "Yes sir. Thank you, sir."

"No," the President shook his head. "Thank you, Warren."

"Listen!" O'Doyle suddenly yelled and stood up, pointing up towards the brightening sky. The two men managed to rise as well and looked towards that direction.

Gradually, the heavy whup-whup-whup of helicopter blades filled their ears, and moments later, the solid shape of a Sea King helicopter appeared, in US Navy colours. A searchlight flashed over them, and the helicopter altered course towards them.

"We're saved," yelled O'Doyle, almost but not quite jumping up and down with glee. "We made it!"

"Yeah," murmured Sobchak, gazing from the empty control position to across the now still dark waters around them. "We did..."

***

Chris's face was ground deeper into the mud and silt at the bottom of the lake, pebbles and stones cutting at his face. He struggled desperately, arms flailing at the surface but Amber's grip was like a vice.

Consciousness began to slip away, and his struggles began to lessen.

It was over. He was finished.

Above him, Amber grinned savagely, and pressed down harder, scenting victory, ignoring the wind and rain that lashed against her, threatening to topple her off.

But she held on. The elements were not in Chris's favour.

"Finished, Cwej! You're finished!" she snarled above him, and pressed down harder...

***

A phone on the control panel buzzed and Kanara snatched it up. He heard Professor Briers babbling voice on the line even before he'd finished raising it to his ear.

"... Got a lock on us! Sir, can you hear me?"

"What's that? Say it again, you fool!"

Briers sounded terrified. "Sir, an orbiting platform has got a lock on us. It's preparing to fire!"

"WHAT?" Kanara screamed. "Countermeasures! Block the signal! Scramble it! DO SOMETHING!"

There was a terrified gasp on the line. "Sir, it's fired. It's too late!"

"NOOOO!"

Kanara hurled the phone away and started running towards the door, smashing his guards aside. "Out of my way, idiots!"

He never made it.

The world suddenly turned to white.

Kanara barely had time to scream.

***

Semeyanov shivered suddenly. On the screen, the flashing trace blinked once more ...

And vanished.

Beside him, Statsinsky made the sign of the cross. He never knew he was religious.

He never knew he cared.

Behind him, the phone began to ring.

But it was quite a while before he answered it.

***

Chris saw the flash even with his face pressed to the bottom of the lake, so bright was it. At first he thought it was just part of the final step towards death, but then the pressure on top of him ceased and he dimly registered Amber falling away from him. A second later there was a low, rumbling concussion and the riverbed shook.

Chris broke to the surface, gasping and wheezing. Air never tasted so good in his lungs. He suddenly found he couldn't get enough of it. Even the driving rain felt good on his face.

A livid red glow lit up the horizon to his right, about a kilometre away, further up the railway track, and he fancied he could see flames flickering up into the sky. There was a lot of smoke. He could smell and taste it from where he was standing.

He knew what had happened. It was over. They'd won.

"Got you," Chris whispered. "We got you."

He became aware of a high, piercing sound somewhere close by. Amber was screaming. She was clutching at her face and crashing about blindly through the water.

"My eyes," she wailed. "My eyes!"

Chris realised she must have looked at the blast, and the effect had blinded her. Possibly permanently. He was surprised at how dispassionate he felt about the idea. But then she had just been trying to make him a permanent feature of the riverbed.

Her feet tangled with something and she crashed backwards into the water, disappearing beneath the surface before re-emerging, kicking and spluttering. A gust of wind caught her and she fell again. Her passage was taking her further and further out, back into the deeper waters. She vanished beneath the surface for a longer period this time.

"What a shame," Chris managed to wheeze, turning and staggering up the bank.

"Cwej! Cwej, help me!" the woman cried out, before going down for the second time.

Chris stood on the bank and winced. Part of him wanted the bloody woman to drown, but Chris knew deep down he wasn't that callous. He managed to stagger back through the water and grabbed her.

"Stop kicking and screaming," he yelled. "I've got you."

Her struggles subsided a little, but she still squirmed and thrashed like a landed fish. Carrying her back was no easy task, but eventually they reached the bank and Chris tossed her none-too-gently down. She lay in the mud on her back, panting for breath. He glowered down at her. She looked wretched. Her glorious auburn hair was plastered across her face and shoulders and was flecked with blood and mud and slime. Her red leather outfit was torn and tattered, and somewhere along the line she'd lost one of her boots. She looked like a drowned rat, no longer the sadistic killer. Chris couldn't help but feel a little sympathy for her.

"Dunno why I did that," he grumbled.

"Because... you're... such... a... sweetie," she gasped.

"Huh! I ought to have left you ought there to drown, after what you tried to do to me."

She raised her head slightly. She was blinking and twisting her features, trying to clear the flash from her eyes. "Forgive... and... forget... eh? You... won... you... got... Kanara... didn't you?"

Chris looked out across the blast site. "Yeah, it looks like we did..." He looked down at her. "You should count yourself lucky you weren't on board too."

"Oh... yeah," She chuckled, and managed to sit up, rubbing at her eyes. "Never did... like that... guy."

"Kanara?"

"Yeah... too demanding... shouted... too much... and," she leaned forward conspiratorially, "the job... had a... lousy... pension scheme."

Chris chuckled slightly at that. "Never worried about that sort of thing myself."

She looked up at him, or in his general direction. "What... now?"

"You? Go to jail. Do not pass go. Do not collect two hundred pounds."

She managed a wry laugh, which turned into a coughing fit. "Never been... in jail. Not... behind bars... anyway..." Her face softened. "Unless... we can... work out... a deal."

"A deal?"

A slow smile, a mere ghost of the galactic expression she'd given him in the casino so long ago now it seemed, graced her features. "Yeah... why not?"

One hand crept up to the zipper at the top of her catsuit and slowly began to pull it down. The effect might have been seductive where it not for the fact that the fastener jammed a couple of inches down, and no matter how hard she tugged, she couldn't free it.

Chris chuckled wearily and shook his head. "I can think of several reasons why not."

She gave up on the zipper and simply lay back, still trying - and failing - to look seductive. "Name one..."

"I've made it a philosophy of mine never to get intimately involved with psychopaths."

"I'm not a psychopath," she pouted. "Sociopath, maybe..." Her grin widened, and she wriggled in the mud slightly. "Besides, if you really are worried, you could always have another go at tying me up... I won't struggle..." she winked suddenly. "Much."

Chris sighed heavily. He found the idea was totally repulsive. "Good grief... look, just forget it, will you? I'm not interested. You're going to prison, end of story."

"End of story?" Amber threw back her head and laughed rustily. "Oh no, not quite."

She suddenly kicked one of her legs up, catching Chris sharply on the thigh. He yelled and staggered back, tripping over his own feet and falling to the ground. Amber sprang up and dived on top of him, hands clutching for his throat. He lifted his own hands up and clutched them around hers.

"Give... it... up," he wheezed.

"Never," she hissed. She began to squeeze harder. "Moron! Shoulda... finished... me... when you... had... the... chance."

Something crunched across the ground to her right and she darted a look round, just in time to see a dark shape appear out of the gloom beside her. Something whistled through the air and smashed across her face, sending her flying sideways back into the water with a heavy splash.

Chris sat up, rubbing his throat. The newcomer hunkered down beside him.

"Was that nasty woman bothering you?" asked Roz.

Chris managed to wheeze out a delighted laugh. "Which... nasty... woman?"

She made a disgusted sound, but he could tell from her face she was as pleased to see him as he was her. She stood up and tucked her retractable baton away again. "If you're gonna be like that, I'll leave you and your new girlfriend to your billing and cooing."

"I wouldn't... exactly... call it that," he croaked. Roz extended a hand and helped him up. He half-intentionally staggered against her and wrapped his arms around her, partly for support, partly for delight at her company. She staggered back slightly beneath his weight.

"Ooof... leggo, ya big dummy... I'm too knackered for wrestling," All the same, she hugged him back. "I'm glad to see you too..."

In front of them, Amber started to stagger to her feet again in the shallows. Blood dripped from her ruined nose down her face and onto her chest, and she looked even more gruesome than before. Roz untangled herself from Chris and took a step forward, pulling her baton free again.

"I dunno who you are, precious, but this guy is a close personal friend of mine and I don't take kindly to people trying to strangle him..."

She snapped the baton out and raised it in her fist, moving forward towards the woman, who flinched back.

Something snagged around the baton and brought Roz to a halt. She jerked her head round.

The Doctor stood just behind her, umbrella outstretched in his right hand. The question mark handle was looped around the baton. His face was sober, sad, even.

"I think there's been enough violence for one evening, don't you?"

Chris loped down to stand beside him. "She's a killer, Doctor... totally vicious."

"But you're not." The Doctor looked at both of them, and after a moment they stood back, lowering their gazes from his. He came forward to the waters' edge and looked at the woman before him. She was shivering slightly in the cold rain, arms wrapped around herself for warmth and a little comfort. She didn't look much like a heartless killer any longer, just a frightened young woman a long, long way from home. He motioned her forward. "Come here," he ordered, in a tone Roz had only heard him use when trying to stop Wolsey doing something he shouldn't be.

The woman took a faltering step up the shore.

"What's your name?" he asked softly.

"Amber," she whispered.

He frowned. "Your real name."

"Jennifer... Jennifer Eksteen."

The Doctor folded his hands behind his back, and studied her in the same manner a scientist might regard an interesting germ beneath a microscope slide. From her slumped, defeated pose, Roz could tell she felt about that small and insignificant too beneath the withering gaze of this funny little man with his funny hat and funny umbrella and his deep, dark eyes. Eyes that seemed to look through you, beyond and back, so that it appeared he knew exactly how much you measured up against the scheme of things.

She felt the Doctor didn't think Amber measured up to much at all. An insignificance. And he made sure she knew it.

But you could also tell he wanted that to change. He wanted her to measure up, in much the same way that he wanted everyone and everything he met to measure up. Everything was significant, he'd said so himself once. Everyone mattered. It was his way. His philosophy. He didn't seek to destroy. He didn't want to have Kanara and entourage blown to smithereens. He sought to improve. To mend. To cure.

He was a Doctor, after all. What else were Doctors' for if not to cure?

Amber ... Jennifer was in dire need of being cured.

"Well, Jennifer, you're quite a lucky young woman. Not everyone in your situation gets a second chance in life." He nodded backwards towards the trees, and beyond. "I suggest you make the most of it, hmmm?"

"Yes... yes..."

She started to stumble forward. As she went to move past the Doctor, he held his umbrella out across her path. She halted and looked at him. His eyes were hooded, face heavy with warning.

"But if I should find that you've returned to your old ways, you might find the clock being wound back to just before this moment, and I might arrive a few minutes late and allow my young friends here to..." and he grimaced, "do whatever it was they were going to do. Understand?"

Amber - no, not Amber any longer, she was very definitely Jennifer now, plain and simple - swallowed and nodded. "I understand," she whispered.

The Doctor lowered his umbrella. "Go."

She ran into the trees and never looked back.

The Doctor sighed, shoulders slumping slightly, though whether it was through relief or tiredness neither Roz nor Chris could tell. The Doctor was nigh impossible to fathom even at the best of times... and even though they seemed to have won the day, this didn't seem the best of times.

They came and stood beside him and watched the flames flickering on the horizon for a while. Roz reached across slowly and rested a hand on the Doctor's shoulder. Chris finally broke the silence.

"It's stopped raining."

And indeed, in the sky above the dark clouds were rolling back to reveal the first glimmerings of the dawn.

"Yes," nodded the Doctor. "It has. All over."

Roz glanced at him. "All over?"

He looked at her and smiled one his rare 1000-year-old smiles, face brightening along with the sky. "As a wise man once said, it is now," He wrapped his arms around their shoulders and started to steer them back to where he'd landed the TARDIS.

"Now, how about some breakfast?"

Chris and Roz grinned. "You're on," they chorused.

***

Breakfast rolled on into the afternoon, when the sun came out and blazed down upon the large garden at the back of the house on Allen Road. Chris and the Doctor sat out on the terrace in deck chairs. Chris had taken a long slow shower and changed into shorts and a dreadful Hawaiian shirt, and applied more of the Doctor's rapidly diminishing supply of Sisterhood Salve to his many wounds. One gigantic breakfast later and he felt a new man.

Somewhere in front of them, Wolsey was patrolling the flowerbeds and chasing the butterflies - much to the Doctor's displeasure. He peered around occasionally to make sure the cat hadn't actually caught any, trying to tempt him away with bacon rinds. But the cat wasn't having anything of it. He was too busy enjoying the sunshine.

Chris had cleared breakfast from the little metal table before them and replaced it with a silver tray containing a large clear jug of Pimms. Chris poured himself out a glass - his second - making sure he got some of the ice and a piece of the kiwi fruit that bobbed on the surface of the liquid. He made to top up the Doctor's glass but he absent-mindedly waved him away. The Time Lord was busy fiddling with the big television set. He'd retrieved it from the basement and wheeled it out into the garden, having restored it to its previous condition - so he hoped.

Chris set the jug down and heard the solid whunk of wood on wood. The television suddenly crackled to life and he heard the Doctor exclaim with delight. Chris turned to see him putting the cricket bat back down. Of late, that seemed to be the Doctor's favourite tool.

The Doctor settled back in his deck chair and picked up his glass. He looked pretty pleased with himself, and unusually relaxed. He'd even taken his jacket off and rolled up his shirtsleeves.

"Cheers," he said suddenly.

"Cheers," mumbled Chris back through a mouthful.

On the screen, a typically severe looking BBC3 news anchor was talking about what was being called The Flood Crisis. The man's face had an unusual yellowy pallor and Chris leaned forward to fiddle with the contrast.

"You sure you fixed this right?"

The Doctor gave him a disparaging look. "Of course I did! Leave it be, and let me listen."

"... Statement released by the White House Chief of Staff declared that the President was being well looked after by his medical advisors and that he hoped to back at work within a matter of days."

The screen flicked from the anchorman to the Chief making his statement at a podium fronted by the Presidential seal, and away to a scene of the President, still wrapped in a heavy blanket, being escorted from the big Sea King helicopter to a waiting line of black limos. Secret service and heavily armed Marines in camo gear surrounded him. They were taking no more chances today. O'Doyle and Sobchak were in the scene too, both battered and bruised looking, but still stuck to the President's side. The President waved and smiled at the throng of press clamouring for his attention and then disappeared inside one of the cars, O'Doyle and Sobchak climbing in with him.

The picture cut back to the anchorman, who began talking about the destruction of the train in Thailand.

"Bloke looks pretty chipper, doesn't he?" said Chris.

"Yes, Roz did an excellent job. Just like I expected. You both did." The Doctor smiled at him and leaned forward again as the picture cut to show the wreckage of the train - what little there was of it. The big laser cannon had made short work of the vehicle. Kanara's carriage had been all but vaporised.

"... American defence sources are remaining tight-lipped about the exact nature of their discovery of the whereabouts of Ronaldo Kanara, the infamous criminal cartel leader, or indeed his connection with recent inclement weather conditions, and with his role in the attempted kidnapping of the President of the United States. It is likely that the full story will never emerge. The British Prime Minister said of recent events in the Commons today that-"

The Doctor switched the set off and leaned back. "I think I've heard enough about this for one day."

Chris glanced at him. "Will the full story ever emerge?"

The Doctor grinned. "Unlikely..." he picked up his glass and took a small sip. "And even if it did, no one would ever believe it."

"I'm not sure I believe it myself," Chris muttered. "And I was there."

The Doctor reached across and patted his shoulder. "You were indeed, and very grateful for your assistance I was too."

Chris grinned. "Thanks, Doc."

"Doctor," he corrected mildly, eyes twinkling.

Chris raised his glass. "Doctor."

The Doctor raised his glass in return. "Christopher."

Chris took a sip, frowned, and looked round. "Roz?"

No reply. She was nowhere to be seen. He turned back to the Doctor. "Where's Roz?"

The Doctor twirled the ice in his drink, holding it up to the sun and studying it carefully. "She said something about a prior engagement, so I gave her a lift..."

"Where?" Chris wanted to know.

But the Doctor just tapped his nose and smiled mysteriously.

***

Warren Sobchak pottered around the apartment, picking things up and putting them down. He couldn't settle. Hadn't been able to all afternoon since he got back from the hospital. He'd suffered only minor cuts and bruises, compared to Mabel O'Doyle's fractured ankle and the President's mild concussion (and hadn't the White House medics gone into a frenzy about that!). He'd been released with instructions to take some medical leave - effective after he'd been debriefed, of course. Ordinarily this would have been done immediately, regardless of his condition, but the President had personally intervened and given his superiors to allow both Sobchak and O'Doyle the night off. They couldn't very well refuse.

In a way, he'd rather he was stuck in a briefing room. At least it would occupy his mind, give him something to do.

Stop him thinking of her.

He picked up the Tom Clancy novel he'd started a week ago for the third time in a space of ten minutes and then flung it down again for the third time. Like he needed to read all about the adventures of the Secret Service and its gun-toting President. He got enough of that sort of thing at work.

The doorbell rang. Sobchak looked round in surprise. He wasn't expecting anyone. His last girlfriend left him a month ago, citing the lack of his availability as the cause. That happened a lot. Once the mystique of protecting the most powerful man in the world (so he thought) wore off, and they realised he was just at the beck and call of the office like any other working joe, they soon moved on.

He moved to the door. Perhaps it was someone from the office. Maybe they'd decided to debrief him under less formal circumstances. He could but hope.

He opened the door to a very pleasant surprise.

"Hi," said Roz Forrester. "Remember me?"

"Holy smoke," Sobchak gaped at her. "I thought you were... I mean, I thought you'd..."

She grinned. "Yeah, I thought I'd... too, but it turns out I didn't. And I felt obliged to come and let you know I was perfectly all right."

"Thanks," he said lamely.

She studied him brightly. "You also mentioned dinner..."

"...Or something," he grinned, remembering the conversation in the boat.

She poked her tongue into the corner of her mouth to stop from laughing. "Hmmm, that might come after dinner..." She suddenly peered round his shoulder into his apartment, face falling slightly. "I mean, you are available for dinner, are you? If I'm breaking anything up..."

Sobchak grabbed his jacket from the rack opposite and slammed the door, pushing her down the corridor towards the lift. "Not at all... had anywhere particular in mind?"

"Your town, Mr Special Agent. You pick," she grinned.

He grinned back. "Great," He pushed the button to call the lift. Roz smirked suddenly.

"Better get your umbrella. It's raining out there."

He looked at her horrified. "God, you're kidding."

She winked. "Yep! It's a perfect summers' night out there."

Sobchak let out a heartfelt sigh of relief. "Thank God for that..." The lift arrived and the doors opened. He ushered her inside. "Y'know, if I never see a drop of rain as long as I live..."

Roz laughed. "Amen to that, brother. Amen!"

