The Doctor stopped suddenly, turned to her. 'Shh!'

He crouched down, motioned Jo to do the same. Jo listened, heard the familiar chitinous rattling.

Getting closer.

She peered over the tops of the leaves, saw a tank-like shape moving between the pillars.

'Doctor -' she whispered The tank-like object turned. There was the sound of leaves being pushed aside.

'Run!' shouted the Doctor.

Jo needed no encouragement. She sprang up, ran as fast as she could through the impeding stalks of the plants.

It wasn't fast enough. The rattling sounds grew louder. She could hear a constant, loud, hissing, like a steam engine in a station. She looked over her shoulder, saw open mandibles, the heavy, dark body tensed as if to spring - 'Jo! Over here!'

She jumped towards the sound of the Doctor's voice, heard the defender crash down in the s.p.a.ce where she had been standing. The Doctor caught her hand, physically dragged her forward. She saw the brighter light, the shrivelled eggs, Vincent's soldier still standing, staring.

'This is the only place we'll be safe,' said the Doctor. 'The hatching zone. I think you'll find that the defenders are too big and too clumsy to be allowed to roam around in here.'

Jo looked around her. She saw that several more of the eggs had hatched: dark-faced men in Army uniforms stood or crouched, silent and unmoving. She took a few steps forward, then saw the hatching egg in front of her and stopped.

The skin was slipping down, breaking up, revealing the body beneath, slime falling away from the familiar uniform, the familiar features - She put a fist to her mouth, gasped. 'Doctor! It's Sergeant Osgood!'

The Doctor swung round, stared. 'You're right, Jo. But how on Earth did they get the material - '

He stepped forward, reached out a cautious hand and touched the inert body.

The eyes opened.

'h.e.l.lo, Sergeant,' said the Doctor quietly. 'How's your fiancee? - Becky, isn't it? Nice girl, as I remember it. You met her at the folk festival, didn't you?'

The Sergeant's mouth opened and a golden, oily bubble formed between his lips. It burst, and the honey-like fluid ran down his chin.

'Come on, man, stand to attention,' said the Doctor, trying a different tack.

There was a hollow snap from behind them. Jo looked over her shoulder, saw the grey shapes of the defenders lined up behind the nearest pillars, less than ten yards away. In the brighter light of the hatching zone, their hunched, armoured bodies looked more like rhinos than giant insects; the stumpy legs and forward-sloping heads added to the impression. But from the front of their heads sprang metre-long mandibles, the gripping edges lined with hooked teeth. As she watched, one of the creatures jerked its head upwards and shut its mandibles with another audible snap snap.

Involuntarily, Jo took a step backwards. She turned to the Doctor, who was still speaking in a low voice to the copy of Sergeant Osgood.

And that was when she saw it.

From the corner of her eye: the immaculate uniform, the bra.s.s b.u.t.tons, the neatly trimmed black moustache. The brown eyes staring at her.

At her.

'Doctor,' she said quietly.

The Doctor looked up from Sergeant Osgood, followed the direction of her gaze.

The copy of the Brigadier glanced at him, then returned its attention to Jo. Slowly its hand moved towards the gun holster strapped to its waist.

Jo felt her stomach clench. 'This is where he shoots us, isn't it?' she whispered.

The Doctor said nothing. Slowly, the copy Brigadier's hand rose, with the gun in it. Jo felt her face, her hands, her feet go cold. The gun was pointed directly at her now.

- I'm going to die I'm going to die this is what we saw the Doctor I'm going to die I'm going to die this is what we saw the Doctor was right there's nothing we can do I'm going to die was right there's nothing we can do I'm going to die - - The Brigadier's finger tightened on the trigger.

Fourteen.

The Brigadier had a last glimpse of the Giltean encampment as Yates turned the helicopter towards the mountains. The guns were still trained on them. It was a disconcerting sight, even though the Brigadier knew that they were out of range.

'I took a gander at the alien installation, sir,' said Yates. 'Got a couple of pictures from the automatic camera.'

'You didn't see the Doctor?'

Yates shook his head. 'Just a lot of Kebirian Army men. They seemed to be held prisoner in a compound - '

'I know, I know. Al-Naemi told me about it. And some sort of fairy tale about "dancing the code".' He paused, decided he'd better ask. 'So how the blazes did you get here, Yates? And what are you doing in my helicopter?'

The Captain glanced sidelong at him. 'Apparently Benari's given in to UN pressure, sir. But we've got to be out of the country as soon as possible and -' Yates broke off for a moment. 'They want Miss Grant, sir. For murder.'

The Brigadier was so startled that for several seconds he couldn't think of anything to say. Finally he just repeated, blankly, 'Murder?'

Yates swallowed.

'She escaped from prison, with a journalist. Several of the prison guards were killed and they reckon Jo got one of them.'

'I don't believe it,' said the Brigadier. It was true: he didn't. He still remembered the occasion when Jo had told him off for using fly spray, and had shown him how to catch a fly with a teacup and a piece of paper so that you could let it out of the window alive. He could no more imagine her killing anyone than he could imagine - He swallowed, forced himself to complete the thought.

Himself killing her. With a .38. And that cold expression on his face.

'I don't believe it either,' Yates was saying. 'But the Secretary-General's office have given us a direct order to hand her over if we find her.' He paused. 'Actually it was addressed to you, sir, but in the circ.u.mstances I felt I ought to open it.'

The Brigadier waved a hand at him to signify that it wasn't important. He looked down through the tinted gla.s.s of the helicopter's c.o.c.kpit at the grey and black rocks of the desert drifting below.

Ahead, the ground fell away and the Brigadier could see a brown plain dotted with thorn trees.

He cleared his throat.

'You have my authority to ignore that order, Yates. Tell your men.

If we find Miss Grant, she goes back to England and we argue about it with the politicians later.'

Yates nodded, grinned. 'Yes, sir!'

The Brigadier gazed at the desert, and wondered how many more orders he was going to have to ignore before this operation was over.

When the gun went off, Jo fell to her knees, clutching her chest.

She saw the Doctor rush forward, saw the fake Brigadier stagger backwards and fall against one of the eggs. But only when he pointed his ruined hand at the oncoming figure of the Doctor, only when she saw the shards of chitin spreading out from the end of his fingers, did Jo realize that she wasn't hit, that nothing had happened to her, that instead something had happened to the gun.

Dazedly, she removed her hands from her chest, saw only the drying film of mud over her T-shirt. She got to her feet, started towards the place where the fake Brigadier and the Doctor were grappling. The alien appeared to be getting the better of it. The Doctor was being pushed back towards the floor, his head twisted to one side. Jo looked around for something she could use as a weapon, saw nothing. She kicked out at the alien's leg, hoping to unbalance it, but her foot was jarred as if she were kicking stone and the alien didn't appear to react at all.

Before she could think of anything else to do, the fake Brigadier's body tumbled forward over the Doctor's shoulder, and landed on the ground with a hollow snapping sound. As Jo stared, horrified, huge cracks formed in the body, and a gelatinous fluid ran out, filling the air with a sickly-sweet smell. Slowly, the body literally fell apart, like a china doll filled with honey.

The Doctor stepped back. 'Shame about that,' he said. 'If I'd known the chitin was still that brittle I'd have been gentler with him. He might have been able to tell me something useful.'

'I think I prefer it dead, if it's all the same to you,' said Jo, still staring at the shattered body. Bubbles were rising through the fluid now; the left leg, which was intact, jerked repeatedly.

'Double contrapnuemainterfluidostatic action,' muttered the Doctor, stroking his chin. 'That's very interesting.' Then he glanced up at Jo.

'Sergeant Osgood wasn't with the team that went to Kebiria, was he?'

Jo shook her head.

'I didn't think so.' He paused, began pacing to and fro in the narrow s.p.a.ce between two of the huge, luminous eggs. 'I just wish I knew where they got the material to make these copies.'

'Press photographs?' suggested Jo.

The Doctor shook his head. 'No, Jo. Look at the detail. You couldn't get that from a photograph.'

Jo examined the shattered face of the fake Brigadier. It was perfect, down to the individual hairs of the black moustache.

'I see what you mean,' she said doubtfully. 'But what else - '

The Doctor interrupted her. 'There has to be some guiding intelligence behind all this. Something that's been studying humanity for a while and knows who the key figures are.' He turned to Jo.

'Something that knows exactly what UNIT is and what it does, for example.'

Jo shuddered. 'But that means they could have copies of - well, anybody.'

'That's right, Jo. But if my theory's right - '

Before the Doctor could complete his reply, strong arms grabbed Jo around the stomach. She called out, struggled, but it was like fighting a living statue. She saw another figure take hold of the Doctor, saw it thrown to the floor and shattered: but two more replaced it, took an arm each.

'Doctor!' she shouted. But the Doctor was being dragged away into the darkness.

A hand was pressed over her face and a sweet, thick, syrupy scent filled her nose, clogged her throat.

Gingerbread men, she thought.

Then Aunt May kissed her and everything went black.

Catriona was several miles inside what was officially Algerian territory when she saw the jeep parked across the road ahead of her.

She swore under her breath. The vehicle was only a few hundred yards from the white concrete but that was the Algerian customs post, but she knew that the chances of it being Algerian were slim. One man sat behind the wheel; another had already got out and was walking up the track towards her, presumably having heard the sound of her approach. He had a light machine-gun slung casually over his shoulder.

Catriona stopped her Land Rover in front of him, saw the Kebirian flag st.i.tched to the lapel of his khaki shirt. Nervously she pulled out her pa.s.sport. With any luck they'll just let me through, she thought. They won't know I'm wanted in Kebir City. n.o.body will have got around to telling them.

Please.

The man took her pa.s.sport, examined it closely.

'Why do you wish to leave Kebiria?' he asked at last.

Catriona felt a huge wave of relief. Just an ordinary busybody patrol, then; probably hoping to pick up some of Vincent's people. 'I already have left Kebiria,' she pointed out dryly.

The man smiled thinly. His face was plump, for a soldier's, and beads of sweat clung to his moustache. 'Yes, but I do not think you went through customs,' he said. 'Not on this road.' He glanced up at the ridge of hills that lay between them and the site of Vincent's settlement.

The remains of Vincent's settlement, Catriona thought fiercely.

Aloud she said: 'I didn't get a chance to go through customs. There were too many bombs exploding.'

The man didn't smile, and his brown eyes remained fixed on hers.

'Well, we will just have to inspect you now.'