Victoria closed her eyes and said quietly, 'I do not belong in this world. My family and friends are all lost in time.'

There seemed to be something there that he understood. His rage subsided. He sounded broken and alone. 'We are both outcast, Victoria.'

'That's why we work together. I built you this place with the money my dear father invested one hundred and thirty years ago. In return, you promised us the Light of Truth.'

There was a burst of hollow laughter. 'There is no Light.'

Again the voice settled, but there was a threat behind it. 'I trust you, Victoria.'

She rose from her place and walked to the window.

Daylight was seeping in from a gap at the edge of the blind.

'And I trust you,' she said.

The monitor eye was suddenly aware that she had moved.

The terminal began to turn back and forth, searching blindly for her. 'One Locus still binds my... power. The others were dealt with long ago. The last one must, will will, be ready for my return.'

She blanched as the glare swept over and past her. At last, the screen dimmed. Today's conference was at an end.

Victoria clutched the back of a chair to steady herself. Was the Chancellor returning now? How much time did she have?

Brigadier Lethbridge-Stewart must know where the Locus was. Everything pointed to him. She had been searching, surely the Chancellor knew that. What else could she do? And Daniel Hinton must be found before he got into serious trouble. It was up to her to find them. Always up to her. She must redouble her efforts. She had a feeling she wanted to scream.

14.

Twickers' Big Day he Brigadier unlocked the drawer and extracted the T Browning from its case. It was the gun he had kept since the old days. It fitted his hand like an old friend. He raised it and checked the chambers for bullets.

The telephone line to London had been diabolical, but he had made all the necessary calls and had a full campaign strategy drawn up in his mind.

He had slept fitfully that night, part through worry, part through not being in the slightest bit tired. In s.n.a.t.c.hed moments of sleep, he knew that there was something outside.

A huge brooding shadow in the dark that lumbered round the house, pushing at the walls and windows. It scrabbled at the front door, its ma.s.sive silhouette filling the stained-gla.s.s windows. He heard its low growl and saw a pair of eyes like burning coals. Whenever he woke, all he saw was the crack of orange light from the streetlamp that sneered under the curtain.

He had been keeping an eye on the van as well. The poor blighter a.s.signed to keep him under tabs did not seem to have been relieved of duty at all. The Brigadier wondered whether to invite him in for cocoa, a house speciality based on RSM Benton's original recipe.

He had reckoned to leave the house by nine, but was up and ready to go at least an hour earlier. He decided to make a show of normality and went out to bring in the milk that he had forgotten to cancel. There were footprints in the flowerbed, but no sign of the windows being tried. His dark green Range Rover was parked outside as usual. Across the sunny avenue, beyond the wall and line of plane trees that bordered School Field, long glittering arcs of water circled slowly above the cricket pitches, newly prepared for the summer term his last term.

He glanced to the end of the avenue and saw to his surprise what looked like the Twickermobile Twickermobile, Celia's ancient cream Triumph Herald. It was parked further down, beyond his friend in the Gas Board van. For a moment, he thought he saw Celia's head bob up above the dashboard. He was getting a fan club he did not want. He cursed as he hurried back inside.

Getting away without being followed was going to be the problem. He had wondered about putting bullets through the van's tyres, but didn't think the neighbours were ready for a shoot-out in the middle of their avenue. Especially since that blasted interfering woman was involved.

He put on his tweed jacket and cap and picked up his car keys. He was locking the front door when he realized that, of all things, he had not picked up the gun. He fetched it from the drawer and slid it into the holster inside his jacket. It felt uncomfortable there without his proper uniform. Resigned to the makeshift arrangement, he marched back out of the house.

He ignored his own car and turned along the avenue. The van still appeared empty when he pa.s.sed it, but he kept going until he reached the Triumph Herald.

Celia appeared to be busy with a road map. She jumped when he rapped smartly on the windscreen. A pair of ornate opera gla.s.ses sat on her lap.

'Good morning, Celia,' he said. 'If you're going sightseeing, I suggest you try somewhere else.'

She looked quite mortified. 'Brigadier, I've spoken to the Gas Board and they know nothing about that van.'

'Very perceptive,' he said tetchily. Now please go back to the safety of your office. I'll speak to you later.'

'If you're in danger, Brigadier..

'I said "go"!'

There was no arguing with the command, although she looked incensed. She started the car without another word and drove off up the avenue.

As he pa.s.sed the van on the way back, he slammed his fist against the side and shouted, 'Good morning!' He looked in at the dirty windscreen. There was no tax disc. The seats were old and torn, and were covered in rubbish. From inside, he heard the sound of a baby crying.

The back door slammed. A young woman with a thin, weathered face and greasy hair climbed out. She wore a faded 'Hobbiton Rules' tee-shirt.

'Can't you leave us for five minutes?' she snarled.

This wasn't a surveillance unit. It was travellers or squatters. The Brigadier was about to give the woman a good basting on moral responsibilities, when he heard a car approaching at speed.

A black-windowed Porsche cut straight in at him. He grabbed the woman, pulling them both behind the van, out of its path. It shot past, so close it was a blur.

'b.l.o.o.d.y fascist yuppies!' yelled the woman and hit at the Brigadier too. 'They're the trouble, not us!'

'Get inside and stay there!' he ordered. He ran across the avenue to his Range Rover. He was an idiot thinking that techniques hadn't advanced in the past twenty years. He didn't even know who these people were, or what they wanted.

' Where is the Locus? Where is the Locus? ' said a voice in his mind. A voice he thought he had dreamed. ' said a voice in his mind. A voice he thought he had dreamed.

He turned the ignition. Ahead, further up the leafy road, the Porsche was turning to make a return run. The Brigadier put his foot down and started away.

The Porsche came straight up the middle of the avenue.

Straight at him. He saw the open gate in the school wall and swung the wheel. The Range Rover went straight through the gap out into the wide arena of School Field.

He heard a screech of brakes behind him. A second later, the Porsche shot into view through the opening. It came at him like a homing shark. He did another highspeed turn, which sent a shower of earth up from the pitch. Water sloshed onto his windows as he cut through the range of the sprinklers. He tried to weave back and forth, but the Porsche followed his every move and was cutting down the distance.

The Brigadier cut sharply to the right and kept turning as if he was on the tightest of hairpin bends. Every loose item inside avalanched across the car. For a moment, the vehicle was turning on two right wheels only. He nearly stalled in the process, but the manoeuvre caught his pursuer unawares. The Porsche sliced narrowly past him, its brakes screaming.

Making the most of his chance, he headed for the gate again, but as he approached, he saw another car coming in through the gap towards him. A cream Triumph Herald with Celia at the wheel. As he swerved to miss her, he saw her astonished face.

'Stupid, blasted woman! You'll get yourself killed!' he shouted uselessly.

The Porsche was already gaining ground. The Brigadier tried to zig-zag, but the steering-wheel jerked as if a third hand was controlling it. His engine roared like a wild beast.

Something was pulling on the car. A force dragging against it.

In his mirror he saw, ever closer, the black malevolent reflection in his pursuer's windscreen. The Porsche started to pull alongside. He pumped his foot on the accelerator, forcing his protesting vehicle straight on. He began to make headway, but he was running out of field. Ahead, the school a.s.sembly hall was looming.

The Range Rover left the field and mounted the footpath. In desperation, his foot still on the gas, the Brigadier jammed the handbrake hard on. The car skidded wildly, the dragging influence suddenly released. There was no road. He angled sharply through the first arch of the school cloisters. The Porsche came behind him.

They tore along the stone corridor under the ancient arches, rattling cla.s.sroom doors as they pa.s.sed. Notices were ripped from their noticeboards. Litter bins were sent clattering. The school Chaplain, drawn by the noise, dived for cover into a doorway as the cars thundered through.

The steering-wheel began to jerk again, trying to force the Range Rover against the walls. With a crash, a wing mirror smashed against an arch, but the Brigadier had a firmer grip now. He kept on a steady course.

Ahead, the far entrance to the cloisters led out into the Chapel yard. It was blocked by the council dustcart and a group of binmen who were staring at the spectacle.

He didn't dare slow down. The binmen scattered as he reached the end of the cloisters. He crooked the wheel left instead, accelerating out onto the field again.

Celia's car was parked on the far side. She had emerged and was standing watching with her opera gla.s.ses. She started to wave desperately, but he was too involved to respond. He heard the loud report of a gun. In the mirror, he could see an arm extending from the driver's window. It was aiming a pistol at the wheels. He swerved again as he heard another sharp report.

With an apologetic thought to the head groundsman, who had been a close friend until now, he turned the car in another shower of turf and headed straight towards the sprinklers. The turning arcs of water rushed nearer. As usual, the Porsche was on his tail moving in for the kill. He saw the gun levelling at him.

With a whoosh, the Range Rover shot over the sprinklers.

The big vehicle cleared the spinning machine and its water jets easily. There was a loud crunch from behind as the Porsche hit the metal carousel and skidded wildly. The broken hose reared like an angry snake under the force of the water. It flailed against the Porsche as the car's engine choked in frustration.

The Brigadier wasted no time in heading for the gate. Celia was already back in her car and moving in from the side. She was waving from her driving seat, gesticulating for him to move faster. She was putting on speed too.

In the mirror, he saw that the Porsche had righted itself and was moving in on him fast. He put his foot down and headed for the gate.

As he shot out onto the avenue, he saw Celia's car screech to a halt right across the entrance. He heard another set of brakes screaming and a loud crash. One of the plane trees beyond the wall shook and a cloud of smoke rose from the hidden base of its trunk.

The Brigadier jammed on his brakes and ran from his car back to the gate.

Celia was standing by her undamaged vehicle. 'One for Twickers!' she cried with a look of fierce triumph.

The Porsche had swerved to avoid the blocked gate and hit the tree head on. The Brigadier moved round the smoking cha.s.sis, ready to meet any attack. The driver's buckled door hung open. The car was empty.

Impossible. The black car couldn't attack him by itself.

Could it? Of course not. He had seen a hand angling the gun.

'There,' called Celia. She was pointing further along the wall. He just glimpsed a figure disappearing over the top.

People were running in across the field. Soon this would be a public affair. He leant inside the car. There was some sort of web on the seats and dashboard. He pulled back his hand.

Web on his gun hand and the clawed footprint in the sand of some huge animal like a Yeti. of some huge animal like a Yeti.

He scooped up a card from the floor by the accelerator. It was a parking permit with a serial number, but there was no name. It was embossed with the UNIT logo. He pocketed it and stood up to face Celia.

'Celia, you take charge of this,' he snapped as if he was addressing his sergeant. 'I've urgent business. Tell them, I'll be back later.'

For the first time in his experience of her, Celia was too dumbstruck to answer. He cut the approaching Chaplain dead and ignored the binmen. In the distance he could hear a police car's siren. He strode out through the gate, climbed into his car and drove off in the direction of the city.

15.

Gridlock he computer located Christopher in Modem Room Three.

T It offered to take a message, but Victoria needed to talk to him face to face.

To reach the Modem Room, she had to pa.s.s through the Computer Studies Room, disturbing the students who were working there. As she walked down the central aisle, the students she pa.s.sed started to rise and applaud her. It was just what she did not need. By the time she reached the front of the cla.s.s, they were all clapping her. It was always the same, she brimmed with pride and was buoyed up by their show of genuine affection. Through the window, she could see Christopher watching her coldly from the terminal where he was working.

She turned and acknowledged the warmth of her students, signalling them to return to their work. When she finally got through the door to the Modem Room, her face dropped like a stone.

'The Brigadier's on the move...' began Christopher, before he saw her agitation.

'Daniel Hinton,' she said firmly.

Christopher smiled sheepishly. 'He "fell" from the building.'

Her hand went up to her face in shock. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a sudden movement through the gla.s.s. All the students in the Computer Room had looked up simultaneously.

'What are you saying?'

He shrugged. 'Just jumped. Right off the top walkway.

There was no sign of him below.'