'Tell me more about these lights.'

'There is very little to tell. The fence was set up seven months ago on what used to be farmland. The owner, a coward, fled during the invasion. I have heard that Todt workers were used to build something within the perimeter.

The Germans used a group that had been building coastal defences, and made sure that none of the workers they selected spoke French. Those workers have not been seen since - that, my friend, is not unusual. Shortly afterwards, we began to see the lights.'

'And you've seen them yourself?'

'Yes. So has Monique. Never during the day, but they have appeared in, the early evening, it doesn't have to be dark. The first time, I thought it was just a plane, but suddenly it vanished. Another time it was just travelling too fast to be a plane. I don't mean just speed, but the manoeuvres it was making.'

'When you say vanished - '

'I mean vanished. One moment it was in the sky, the next it just faded away,' Monsieur Gerard said impatiently. Cwej seemed quite at ease standing next to this fence, but just its faint buzzing made the farmer feel restless. They could discuss all this back at the farm.

'Is there any engine noise?'

'None whatsoever. And no vapour trails.'

'What?'

'Vapour trails. Sorry, do I have the wrong word? I mean the exhaust fumes from the engines.' Gerard looked around.

There wasn't any sign of a patrol. To be honest, the Germans had built up a reputation for this place. No sane person would come anywhere near it. Why waste time and effort patrolling such a place?

'What do you think the object was?' Chris insisted.

'I just have no idea.'

'Me neither. Hey, perhaps we'll see one of those flying objects. I need to get inside that base.'

'People have tried. Look, Christophe, I can't come with you.'

'I wasn't asking you to. You've been very brave already.'

'My friend. There comes a point where bravery becomes stupidity. Have you not been listening? You can't just storm in there like Humphrey Bogart.' He could tell that he had finally got through to Cwej.

'Maybe you're right. I'll need to sleep on it.'

'Come back with me, monsieur.' Gerard touched him on the shoulder. Cwej nodded his head, but continued to peer through the fence for a moment longer, before setting off.

'Captain Forrester, Lieutenant Reed, can I have a word?'

They were just about to leave. Kendrick had caught them in reception. He had a doc.u.ment wallet underneath his arm.

Although they were the only people within earshot, his voice was a whisper. Forrester chose to find it comical. Kendrick handed Reed the wallet.

'I'm taking you off raid a.n.a.lysis. I've got a new job for you. An absolute priority. You are the only two I can completely trust.'

'Sir, everyone in this building has been vetted,' Reed objected.

'I know that, Lieutenant, but the SID was thrown together quickly. If the Germans knew about us back at that early stage, which it looks like they did, then it would have been very easy to get one of their own men in. I fought alongside your father, George, there's no way that he'd have brought up a Fascist, and I know for a fact that you're not a n.a.z.i, Captain Forrester.' He had looked her straight in the eye as he said that. At least it was a compliment of sorts.

Reed had been looking through the doc.u.ments in the wallet. He pa.s.sed them over to Roz. She shuffled through a number of transcripts and maps and came to a single photograph. Kendrick drew their attention to it.

'I must ask you to look out for this man, and to prepare a report on him. Five have photographed him in or around this building a number of times. They suspect that he might be the notorious spymaster von Wer. He, and any of his a.s.sociates, are to be considered dangerous.' Roz turned the black and white photograph over.

It was the Doctor.

7 I Spy

Cwej grabbed the hand that brushed against his forehead.

Monique squealed. He was awake in an instant.

'Monique, I'm sorry. I didn't hurt you?'

The girl was standing in front of his bedroom window, rubbing her wrist. 'No, Christophe.' She was wearing a cotton night-shirt. She clearly didn't realize how easily the sunlight streamed through the thin material.

'It's my training. We have to be alert, even while we sleep.'

'How heroic,' she exclaimed, her pain forgotten. 'I have washed your shirt for you.' She held it up for Chris to examine. It was actually still a little damp, but he was grateful anyway, and he told her so. She asked him what he was going to do that morning.

'I'm going back up to the base. I need to keep watch, find out what's going on in there.'

'I shall cook you breakfast.' Monique sat on the edge of the bed, and stroked his arm.

'That would be great. Thanks. I'll eat it when I come back from my jog.' Chris jumped out of bed.

'Please don't.'

Wolff watched the prisoner recoil as the hair clippers hovered over her head. Kitzel was holding them, and was rea.s.suring Summerfield that this was for the sake of her own hygiene. Although it was a shame to lose that pretty brunette hair, in a public facility such as this, there was a risk of lice and other parasites. Summerfield had been almost hysterical when they had arrived, but had quietened down. Her extreme response was quite unusual, but not unheard of, in circ.u.mstances like this; they had been forced to secure her hands to her chair. She was desperately clinging on to some vestige of her individuality. Deprived of sleep, keeping possession of her hair must now seem to her like the most important thing in the world. It might be possible to use this belief to gain some leverage. Wolff held his hand up.

'Nurse Kitzel, there might be no need to do this.' The prisoner looked at him hopefully. Kitzel hesitated.

'Tell me what you did,' Wolff said softly.

'I killed Gerhard. I let all those people die,' Summerfield admitted.

'You witnessed that, Nurse Kitzel?'

'Yes, sir. Sir, who did she let die?' Wolff shrugged.

'On Smith Street,' the prisoner answered.

'Oh, yes, of course. I'd forgotten about them. Don't worry, prisoner, there won't be any need to repeat the exercise now that you've admitted your guilt.' Wolff smiled.

'Sir, shall I cut her hair?' Kitzel asked. The prisoner gasped.

Wolff paused for dramatic effect. He looked at Summerfield, who was silently begging with him.

'No,' he announced finally. Summerfield was looking at him with a pitiful expression of grat.i.tude. At this second, she would have willingly given herself to him, betrayed her own mother, reeled off a list of her contacts and fellow agents.

Summerfield would not forget what had just happened. She was his, now.

'One small thing, prisoner. How do you know the name of the dead soldier?'

Forrester had already gone.

George Reed had spent the night on the sofa, at his insistence. Forrester expressed her disappointment, claiming that she would 'find it impossible to get warm'. Reed recognized this as sarcasm. He remembered dreaming about Roz, but couldn't remember the details. He had woken at a quarter to eight, and had immediately knocked on the bedroom door. There had been no response. Remembering the morning before, when Roz had been so worried about oversleeping, he had decided to open the door - an easy decision to make. The room was dark, and musky with her scent. It had been terribly anticlimatic to learn that although the bed had been slept in, it was empty now. Reed stepped over, placing his hand on the mattress. It was still warm. The flat was tiny, and it only took Reed a minute to confirm his suspicion that the kitchen and bathroom were also empty.

Roz's bag was there. Had she forgotten it, or did this mean that she was planning to come back before she went into work? A horrible suspicion dawned on him. He unbuckled the handbag, feeling very guilty about doing so. It was fastidiously neat. Roz's ration book, ident.i.ty papers, purse and security pa.s.s were all there. Apart from that, it was empty. The photographs weren't there.

Last night, after Kendrick had told them about von Wer the spy, Forrester had insisted that they go straight back up to their office. She had opened up the safe, taken out the aerial photographs of London and put them in her handbag.

He had pointed out that the photographs weren't meant to leave the room, let alone the building. Roz had smiled that knowing smile of hers and pecked him on the cheek.

Now Roz had vanished and so had the photographs. The consequences if the Luftwaffe got hold of reliable information about their aerial bombardments didn't bear thinking about.

They would know which of their targets they had and hadn't hit. They could make a good guess which areas were adequately defended and which weren't. They would be able to plan future raids with almost total accuracy. Kendrick was right: Forrester was not a n.a.z.i Spy. So what was going on?

With a whirr, the double doors automatically swung shut behind Roz.

It had taken a couple of weeks of getting used to, but nowadays she took it for granted that the console room of the TARDIS was impossibly large. Roz still hadn't worked out where the light that flooded the room came from. For a while, she had a.s.sumed that it must emanate from the large piece of machinery hanging from the ceiling over the hexagonal console.

She had mentioned this to Chris, but he had quickly proved that she was wrong. He was unable to come up with a better solution, and Roz had let the subject drop. She was still a little disconcerted by the low humming that seemed to come from all around, its pitch unchanged wherever you were in the ship. She had never had any problem with the slight vibrations generated by a good old Terran warp engine.

Roz suspected that whatever was making the noise was so advanced and alien that even if she managed to discover its source she wouldn't understand it. As if the designer of this room wanted to rea.s.sure guests that everything was perfectly normal, antique furniture and objets d'art objets d'art had been left lying around: a hatstand in the corner, an ornate clock on a pedestal, a couple of leather armchairs. It merely emphasized the incomprehensibility of this place. had been left lying around: a hatstand in the corner, an ornate clock on a pedestal, a couple of leather armchairs. It merely emphasized the incomprehensibility of this place.

Roz stepped over to the console. The hundreds of readouts and indicators dotted around the half-dozen control panels flashed away to themselves, marking time. The crystalline column in the centre of the console was glowing.

Strange patterns twinkled within it, and Forrester gazed into it, momentarily hypnotized. She broke off, and looked around for any sign that the Doctor had returned. His hat, jacket and umbrella were all missing from the hatstand. There didn't seem to be a note pinned up anywhere in the room. There wasn't a voice or text message left on the computer. Roz was heading towards the circular archway that led to the rest of the ship before the practical difficulties of exploring a semi-infinite s.p.a.ce dawned on her. Besides, she had other things to do here, and had to be back at the SID for nine.

So, the Doctor hadn't been here yesterday and he hadn't waited around for her. That was one less thing to be guilty about, anyway. He was quite capable of looking after himself, wherever he was. Forrester wasn't so sure she could say that about Chris.

The Doctor sipped at his lemonade as the Mercedes limousine swept through the Brittany countryside. Steinmann was not travelling with him, and his driver was not a skilled conversationalist. The Doctor had little to do but sit back in his leather seat, drink his lemonade, and watch the scenery roll past. There was little sign here that there was a war on.

The car pa.s.sed the occasional German motorcycle patrol, but apart from that the fields and little farms looked much as they had done for centuries. The road here was little more than a dirt track. Odd that: the Germans tended to improve the roads leading to their bases. Perhaps they hadn't got around to it here yet. Perhaps they were taking him into the woods to be shot. The Doctor chuckled to himself. Well, they could try. The Doctor decided to occupy himself with a game of I-Spy. I spy, with my little eye, something beginning with 'W'.

'Woods,' he replied, pointing out the small copse to himself. The driver glanced in his rear-view mirror and the Doctor raised his hat in greeting. He wished that he knew where his umbrella had got to. He hoped it wasn't still lying alone on the beach at St Jaonnet. I spy with my little eye, something beginning with 'F'.

'Field,' he answered himself.

'R,' offered the driver.

'Pardon?'

'I spy something beginning with "R",' the driver admitted sheepishly.

'You play this game too?' The Doctor was impressed.

'I play this game with my children.'

'Ah...'

'That's right, "R".'

'Does it begin with "R" in German or English?'

The driver grinned. 'Both.'

The Doctor looked around. The driver had glanced to his left, into that cornfield where a flock of coal-black birds hovered.

' Rabe Rabe,' the Doctor concluded.

'Well done, Herr Doktor. I gave you too much of a clue, I think. Your turn.'

'I spy with my little eye, something beginning with "C".'