Price slammed the door into place and they wedged it tight shut with the shattered beams. Price then thumped smaller bits of wood round the door, wedging it into the frame.

'Will that keep them out?' George asked, breathless.

'I doubt it,' Price told him. 'Not for long.'

Fitz was looking round the large room, scanning the walls, glancing up at the frustratingly high windows. 'Caversham said we needed a room with an emergency exit,' he said. 'I guess we forgot that.' He looked back his two friends. 'And I guess he was right. We're trapped in here now.'

26: Incursion

The corridor was full of smoke and the main lights were out. Incongruously, the figure of the ghost was walking oblivious through the heavy air, turning at the door, fading through it just as he always did.

Naryshkin spared him only a glance. There was gunfire from the other end of the corridor coming from the direction of the Great Hall, the dining area. His first thought was that one of the guards had gone mad. The Russian troops were hunting down one of their own. But the continued thump of explosions and the swirling smoke made him reconsider. What the h.e.l.l was going on here?

More figures were emerging from the smoke now guards, half walking, half running backwards, firing their a.s.sault rifles as they came. One of them caught a bullet in the throat and collapsed backwards, falling at Naryshkin's feet and writhing as blood exploded from his neck. Naryshkin leapt back with a yell.

One of the guards grabbed Naryshkin and hurled him back up the corridor, shouting. But the guard's words were lost in the rattle of automatic fire. A moment later he too was knocked across the corridor, crashing into the wall and sliding stickily down to the floor.

Naryshkin turned and ran.

They let Anji watch from the cabin of the snow*cat. She was locked in, and she wasn't about to try to hotwire it. She'd probably blow herself up, or lurch the vehicle over the edge of a cliff or something.

Smoke was rising from the castle in front of her. She had watched a group of Hartford's soldiers enter the low modem building that Thorpe had identified as the barracks. They emerged a few minutes later and ran after their colleagues through the main doors of the original castle. There was a radio in the snow*cat and she could hear the crackled instructions and reports.

'Barracks secure. Three bandits down, eighteen in custody.'

'How are they secured?' Thorpe's voice rumbled through the static.

It sounded like Sonya Gamblin who replied. 'We took their clothes and locked them in the dormitory. They won't come out unless they want their extremities frozen off.'

This brought a chorus of laughter, which quickly gave way to more reports and updates.

'Main Hall area clear. Pursuing bandits along corridor to east.'

'Two boffins held in living area.'

The sound of the radio was drowned by gunfire, then an explosion.

'Giuseppe here. We're drawing heavy fire in the west tower. Request backup.'

'We're on our way.'

And so it went on. The smoke continued to rise. Flames flickered inside the building. Anji watched and listened, numb.

Later, much later, two of Hartford's men came for her. They pulled Anji down from the cabin, and led her at gunpoint into the castle. There was a strange mixture of old and new, she noticed absently. Flagstone floors and plasterboard walls, hanging tapestries and fluorescent lighting. Except that the lights were off, a red emergency glow permeating the smoke that rolled along the corridors...

Eventually they brought her into a large room. It looked as though it had been the Great Hall of the castle, suits of armour stood in alcoves and a huge tapestry hung over an impressive fireplace. Flimsy*looking walls had been set up at one end to part.i.tion off an area, and outside it were grouped several tables with plastic and metal chairs arranged round them. A cheap street cafe in the comer of the vast room.

Hartford's men had the people lined up along the far wall. There were about a dozen men in combat uniform, standing with their hands on their heads. Some of them looked sullen, others murderous. In front of these, shuffling their feet, were several people in civilian clothes. They looked confused and frightened three men and two women.

Anji was led to one of the chairs round the nearest table and pushed into it. Hartford turned for a moment from talking to Thorpe on the other side of the seating area. He stared at Anji, then turned back to his conversation.

As he did so, two more of Hartford's team entered. They were half carrying, half dragging another man in civilian clothes. He seemed to be unconscious. Like his colleagues he was wearing what looked like a brightly coloured jumpsuit.

'What's this?' Hartford demanded as they dumped the man on the floor beside the other civilians.

'He caught a bullet. Think it's in his lung.'

One of the women dropped to her knees beside the unconscious man. 'Oh my G.o.d, Blake,' she sobbed. Her wispy, fair hair fell forward as she leaned over his p.r.o.ne body.

Hartford dragged her to her feet and pushed her back into the small group of white*faced people. One of them, a broad*shouldered man with red hair and a ma.s.s of freckles, stepped forward.

'My name's Flanaghan,' he said. He sounded English. 'I'm a first*aider, maybe I can do something for him.' He took a step towards the man on the floor, who was moaning quietly now.

'Please,' Flanaghan said, 'I can help him.'

The man was coughing. A trickle of blood escaped from the side of his mouth and ran down his chin towards the floor. His body heaved with effort as he coughed and choked again. The woman with fair hair turned away, hand to her own mouth. The other woman, with shorter dark hair, held her.

'Which one of you is Vladimir Naryshkin?' Hartford demanded ignoring Flanaghan.

A wiry man stepped forward, standing next to Flanaghan. 'I am,' he replied in accented English.

'We need your help,' Hartford said, stepping over the writhing body without looking down. 'I want every detail of the work done here Experimental results, the lot.'

Naryshkin's lip curled. 'Why?' he hissed.

Hartford sighed. From inside his white camouflage jacket he pulled a large pistol. He pointed it directly at Naryshkin. 'That doesn't concern you.'

Naryshkin shook his head. 'You will get no help from us. And if you kill me, you will learn nothing.'

Hartford seemed to consider this. 'Maybe,' he conceded. 'But this man is dying anyway.' He looked down at the man at his feet. His eyes were open now, staring up at Hartford as the man's whole body convulsed again.

'It's probably a mercy,' Hartford said. And pulled the trigger.

The gunshot echoed round the Great Hall. Both the civilian women flinched. One of them screamed, Anji wasn't sure which. Or maybe It was Anji herself who had screamed. Flanaghan looked away. Naryshkin kept his eyes fixed on Hartford.

The body on the floor buckled under the impact of the bullet, convulsed again, heaved. Then was still. The head sagged to one side and a mouthful of blood escaped from the dead lips.

Hartford was already turning away, calling over to Thorpe. 'Major, I want one Russian soldier shot every thirty seconds until these people agree to co*operate. Is that understood?'

'No!' Naryshkin shouted, taking a step towards Hartford. Immediately Sonya Gamblin ran up and clubbed him back to the wall.

Hartford seemed not to notice. 'Starting now.'

'Sir.' Thorpe nodded to one of the soldiers. The soldier raised his rifle.

'We'll co*operate,' Naryshkin shouted. 'Whatever you want.'

Anji pressed her face into her hands.

The single shot echoed round the hall like its predecessor. It was followed by the slump of the dying man's body.

'Just tell us what you want,' Flanaghan said. His voice was quieter than Naryshkin's but shaking with emotion.

'That's better.'

Anji peered out from her hands, tried not to look at the body of the soldier.

'I want to know about the time*travel experiments,' Hartford said.

'What time experiments?' Naryshkin asked. 'We're not interested in time travel.'

'Wrong answer,' Hartford said simply. 'Ten seconds.'

'It's true,' the fair*haired woman screamed. 'We're trying to build a black hole.'

Hartford just stared at her. He seemed not to notice the next gunshot, the next body on the floor.

'I want you to tell me about the time*travel experiments, he said again. 'I want you to tell me how you managed to send this woman through time.' It took Anji a moment to realise he was pointing across the room at her.

Flanaghan was shaking his head. Naryshkin looked confused.

The last man stepped forward. He was short, with slicked back hair. 'We are trying to slow the speed of light,' he said. He sounded like another Russian. 'Theoretically that might have implications for time travel. But I have never seen that young lady before.'

Hartford did not reply.

'You have to believe us,' the dark*haired woman shouted. 'Please!'

Anji stood up, chair sc.r.a.ping across the stone floor behind her. 'It's the truth,' she said loudly. Perhaps Hartford would listen to her.

'I know,' Hartford said without looking round, 'that you are experimenting with time travel. I know that Miss Kapoor has travelled through time.'

He paused for the next shot. 'I do not believe in coincidences,' he said as the sound died away.

Anji's hands were tight fists. She had to do something. This was because of her. She had to stop it. But she knew that Hartford would never listen to the truth. What would he believe?

Naryshkin had slumped to the floor, his head in his hands, shaking.

'All right,' Anji said. 'All right, I admit it.'

Hartford turned slowly to face her, and she gulped, wondering if he'd go for it.

'Kill them, and you'll never get what you want.'

'And why is that?' Hartford asked, walking slowly towards her. 'You have eighteen seconds, by the way.'

'You're right, I have travelled through time.'

'Using technology developed at this Inst.i.tute?'

'Yes.'

He turned in triumph. Naryshkin and the others were staring at Anji in disbelief.

'But the damage may already have been done,' Anji said quickly.

'What do you mean?'

'I mean they're telling the truth, We've never met before.'

'How can that be?' Hartford demanded. He was standing right in front of her now, the gun pointing at her. 'If they sent you through time?'

'They sent me back in time,' Anji said. 'You're right. Only...'

Hartford blinked. 'Only what?'

'Only they haven't done it yet,' Anji told him.

25: Duty Calls

There was a bell*rope by the fireplace, and Curtis pulled on it frantically. He stood with his legs apart, as if bracing himself upright. Perhaps he was crippled, the Doctor thought. Or riddled with arthritis. Certainly he did not seem to be comfortable standing.

But then he did not seem very happy at all. The video screen remained blank despite Curtis's attempts to reconnect the call. Now he was shouting loudly, angrily, for someone called 'Holiday'.

The Doctor moved quietly along the corridor and opened the door to the next room. He did not bother to look to see where he was, but turned immediately and pulled the door almost closed. Then he watched the corridor outside from his hiding place.

Holiday was a large man, well*built rather than tall. Even so, the floorboards did not creak under his weight either, the Doctor noticed. He ran along the corridor towards Curtis's increasingly frantic shouts.

'Coming, sir. Coming.'

The Doctor smiled and nodded and gave him ten seconds. Then he went back to the open door to the room and peeped inside.

Curtis had flopped back into the armchair. Holiday stood completely still, without apparent emotion as he listened to Curtis's account of what had happened.