Part 23 (1/2)

'Light! Light!' Hopkins screeches at the top of his voice. There is a flash, and milliseconds later, the sound of the report Redfearn firing, reacting more quickly than he would have believed possible.

There is the sound of running and scuffling and Hopkins is pushed off balance by some mighty force. He topples and finds that the ground has disappeared. Instead, there is nothing but water; one of the pools is all there is to break his fall. He hits it with a mighty clap and then the liquid is all over him.

He sits up, spitting out the foul, scented water. A light flashes on, right in his eyes, and he sees the pistol, the thumb c.o.c.king it and Mr Redfearn laughing right behind it.

'It's me! It's me!' Hopkins screams and the light flicks off.

He buries his head in the water once more, panic-stricken.

Getting his heart under control, he hauls himself up. His men are shouting and das.h.i.+ng around in the dark. He hears iron and spur clas.h.i.+ng in the inky blackness. 'Get some torches on!' he bellows, coughing out the last of the pool. His armour leaks like a waterfall. Someone, Carlin, finally barks orders that bring the men under control. Torchlights snake through the blackness.

This is it, Hopkins thinks. This is it! It was all going so smoothly and professionally until Pelham and her madman turned up. Since then, the whole operation has been one long catalogue of errors. He is certain Neville can see this and is laughing at him. Laughing!

Well, no more. The Doctor is going to die for this. Die.

'Are you all right, Citizen Hopkins?' asks a concerned Carlin, right by his side, making him jump, making him slip back into the pool once more.

He spits water, as eager hands help him up. 'Get away from me!' he snarls, slapping Carlin. Finally, the torrent of water stops flowing out of his armour. His boots, however, remain full. He jabs a finger where he thinks Carlin's face should be.

'I want the Doctor and I want him dead, you understand me?'

'Citizen.'

'Now get the men organised. No more mistakes. Give me that torch.'

Carlin does so. The men are bunched round him, ready for action. Hopkins s.h.i.+nes the light, one at a time into their faces. Is he checking to see if any of them are laughing? He will not admit that to himself. One man, two, three, four...

wait a minute.

'Something the matter, Citizen?' asks Carlin, as the torch stops moving.

'What's going on?' Hopkins mutters. There are more than eight men here, many more. Who's that behind Carlin? 'You,'

he snaps. 'Show me your face.'

The soldier walks into the small spotlight. Where's his d.a.m.n helmet? It looks more... more like a hood.

Even before the creature reveals its face to Robert Hopkins, as the lights flicker back on, he knows who this must be, and who all the others are that have risen from the floor to encircle his tiny unit.

That man Redfearn was as quick as he had feared. Almost.

The Doctor's hair still burned from the furrow driven through it by the bullet. He would have to get his hat repaired... well, get Romana to do it, if he ever found her again.

'Where are we going?' asks Pelham, out of breath and clearly confused about the events of the last few minutes.

'And how did you do that?'

He tries to shut out her voice. His diversion hasn't gained them that much time. They're back where they were before, and there was the access conduit up to the control room.

Pelham sees it and stops. 'No, Doctor. Not again,' she leans against the corridor wall, her breathing hoa.r.s.e with sobs.

'Yes, yes, yes,' he insists, hauling her off her feet and up on to the creaky metal ladder bolted into the conduit's side. He pushes her, egging her on.

There isn't much time, so he explains on the climb. As much to rea.s.sure himself as anything else. 'I should have realised it much earlier.'

'What's that then, Doctor?' Pelham's weary voice comes booming down the ladder.

'The Old Ones wouldn't have bothered with such a tiresome way of transporting themselves into the particle accelerator as your bathyscape. Of course they wouldn't. They were far too lazy for that.'

'And?'

'And they would have set up some kind of transmat-beam.

And the control room does seem the rather obvious place to operate it, don't you think?'

'Now you mention it, not that obvious...'

'Keep climbing. Time's running out.'

She is out, back where they drank that foul potion. The Doctor practically leaps out of the hole in the floor and bounds to where he knows the beam is, where it has to be.

That console, there!

'The palace operates through mind reciprocity. It attempts to cater for its host's neural wishes. Now, if you don't know it will do this, it will respond to your unconscious, emotional wishes. I worked it out and decided to affect it consciously.

Just in time as it turned out. Now, quiet please, as I try to unlock the transmat's telepathic operational cyphers.'

Pelham puts her hands on her hips. 'And do you know all this, or are you just guessing?'

He shrugs. 'Well, an educated guess perhaps. Now, quiet please.'

He is just about to start when something flutters in front of him. He s.n.a.t.c.hes it out of the air. It is a small rectangular piece of card. One side decorated; the other, the ace of hearts.

There is a click from behind. A sound he finds uncomfortably familiar. The c.o.c.king of two pistols. 'Very clever, suh. Ah congratulate y'all.'

The Doctor forces a huge smile on to his face as he turns to face the gunslinger. 'Mr Redfearn, how nice to see you again.

I'm so sorry you missed me.'

Mr Redfearn raises a discreet eyebrow. 'An unfortunate occurrence ah intend to rectify right now, Doctor.'

'No last words?'

'Not this time.'

Pelham almost makes a move; the Doctor senses it and waves her back. Mr Redfearn is cool, completely unruffled.