'That proves nothing. Perhaps the body is that of the man who wrote the journal. He could hardly describe his own death, now could he?'

They smiled across the room at each other. The Doctor walked over and sat down beside Curtis, angling the journal so they could both see it. 'He had a good try, though, didn't he?' He had turned to the very last page. 'See, here...'

As the Doctor read the last paragraph of the journal aloud, the door swung open and Holiday returned, the Grand d.u.c.h.ess with him.

'They are outside now. We all know it is only a matter of time before they break into the Great Hall and discover us. Even Galloway admits that now, and seems to accept it. There is always the possibility that they will try to take us captive, keep us prisoner. With that in mind, I have concealed a loaded revolver behind a loose stone above the fireplace, The third stone from the left in the row immediately above it The stone can be pulled away, and the gun is there, ready and waiting. It may be that this is my final way out. I must stop now, there is a sc.r.a.ping sound from the door. Lights and shouting from beyond. Price is on his feet, aiming the rifle and '

'And there it ends.' The d.u.c.h.ess's voice was dusty and cracked. She hobbled across the room and seated herself in a spare chair beside the Doctor and Curtis. 'I have read it a hundred, perhaps a thousand times,' she said. 'You see how the poor man's writing becomes hurried and untidy as the end approaches. He is desperate to record everything.'

The Doctor agreed. 'So I see,' he said. 'Though I'm surprised that he was not more concerned with saving his own life from...' He shrugged. 'From whatever danger approached. He's rather less than specific about the trouble they are in.'

'We cannot know his character,' the d.u.c.h.ess said, her voice heavily accented. 'Who can say whether he was a man of action or a man of words?'

'Well,' the Doctor said slowly. He reached inside his jacket, then paused, hand frozen midway. He smiled suddenly and spoke a few sentences of fluent Russian.

Curtis and Holiday exchanged confused looks. The Grand d.u.c.h.ess smiled. 'I think perhaps we should converse in English,' she said slowly. 'For the benefit of our friends here.'

'Oh, I agree entirely.'

'But your Russian is very good. Very good indeed. '

'Thank you.'

The Doctor's hand emerged, empty, from inside his jacket. 'So how did you get hold of this fascinating doc.u.ment?' he asked lightly.

Curtis cleared his throat. 'I would deem it a favour if you were to bear in mind that the Grand d.u.c.h.ess is my guest, Doctor. Not yours.

The Doctor was abject. 'I'm so sorry, of course.' He held his hands open in a gesture of apology and invitation. 'You go right ahead.'

Curtis turned to tile d.u.c.h.ess. 'You said that you do have some other doc.u.ments and artefacts in which I might be interested,' he said.

'That is correct.'

'I'm not,' Curtis said shortly.

'I am sorry?' The d.u.c.h.ess was surprised.

'Interested. Only the journal has any value.'

'Then why...?'

'Why have I asked you to come here?' Curtis smiled. 'You said yourself that you have read the journal hundreds of times. You know it so much better than I could after just possessing it for a few hours.' He leaned carefully forward in his chair. 'I want to make use of your expertise,' he said. 'I want you to come with me to Siberia.'

'Siberia?' the d.u.c.h.ess echoed, her face a ma.s.s of frowning wrinkles.

'I shall of course reimburse you for the time and inconvenience.' He watched the d.u.c.h.ess's reaction. 'Handsomely,' he added.

'When are you thinking of going?' the Doctor asked. 'Only poor old Naryshkin did seem to be having a spot of bother earlier.'

'Which is why we leave tonight.' Curtis looked at Holiday, who nodded.

'Everything is prepared now at the airfield,' he reported. 'We can leave within the hour.'

The d.u.c.h.ess cleared her throat, a dry, cracking sound. 'I shall need to bring some things with me,' she said. 'Papers that may be relevant if you wish to retrace the expedition's path. Personal possessions as well, of course.'

'A toothbrush is always useful,' the Doctor agreed happily. 'I a.s.sume you still have your own teeth?' he wondered. 'Thought so,' he said as she glared at him, her watery blue eyes seeming suddenly darker.

'Very well,' Curtis said, ignoring the Doctor. 'Holiday, will you take the d.u.c.h.ess to her home and help her pack whatever she needs.'

'Very good, sir.'

'And then return here to collect myself and the Doctor.'

The manservant blinked. 'The Doctor, sir?'

'He also seems to have some expertise and knowledge that may be useful.'

'And what's more,' the Doctor added, 'I wouldn't miss it for the world.' He grinned. 'There is just one small thing.'

'Oh?' Curtis turned towards him. 'I was not giving you the option, actually, Doctor. You will will come with us.' come with us.'

'Oh absolutely. But I have a bit of packing of my own to do if that's all right. There's something I'd like to bring along.' He Iooked at Holiday. 'a.s.suming there's room for it on the plane.'

22: Out Cold

It was the first time he had ever killed anyone. Looking down at the young man's body, Basil Flanaghan felt only the cold numbness seeping through his boots from the frozen ground. He was surprised how easy it had been how easy for him, and how easily the man, Jacobs, had died.

Flanaghan knew the area. The snow and ice were his friends. He never tired of the landscape, and spent every spare moment out exploring, walking, lapping it up. As soon as he spotted his chance, as they arrived at the remains of the village, he ran for it. There was a gully, he knew, just beyond the bank of snow. It ran for several hundred yards and it took him only a minute to fall into it, dig his way into the drifted snow, cover the hole and wait.

He had heard the crunch of the snow close by as they searched. Quick, urgent movement as they lost track of him, as it seemed the landscape had swallowed him up where his trail simply ended.

When it was quiet again, he had tunnelled his way along, away from the direction in which he had last heard his pursuers. Then, after listening carefully, he dug upwards and poked his head cautiously out of the snow. To find himself alone in a barren white and grey landscape.

His plan, so far as he had one, was to sneak back to the village and try to release the Asian woman, Anji, while the soldiers were searching for him. He a.s.sumed they were soldiers. They sounded American, which gave Flanaghan pause for thought. But when it came right down to it, all that mattered was that they were trying to kill him. That they had already killed Blake and Yuri.

Paying less attention than he should, his mind taken up with these thoughts, Flanaghan had come over a rise to find Jacobs just ahead of him on the track that led round the edge of the rising mountain. The track fell away sharply beyond Jacobs a thirty foot drop on to the iced ground below. Ahead of them, it led between two of the slopes. The wind was funnelled through the pa.s.s, wailing and howling when it was strong. But when it was just a breeze, like today, it sounded like someone calling, singing, crying...

The young soldier was walking away from Flanaghan, his a.s.sault rifle held ready. Perhaps he thought the sound of the breeze was Flanaghan, up ahead of him. But any moment he might turn, might already have heard the man behind him, might bring round the gun and fire. So, without thinking, without planning, without considering the consequences, Flanaghan launched himself forwards. He pitched headlong down the slope, leaping just as Jacobs turned.

The gun was coming round its movement slightly slower than Jacobs's surprised face turning towards him. Then Flanaghan's shoulder powered into Jacobs's chest, sent him reeling, sent the gun flying before he could fire a shot. The wind was picking up now, whipping round the two figures as they fell. Flanaghan collapsed to the track, winded.

But Jacobs was knocked backwards, teetering on the edge, arms flailing, toppling, falling. He cried out as he fell a long, mournful sound. But as Flanaghan struggled to his feet and staggered to the precipice to look carefully over, the cry was adopted by the gathering wind, echoed and dissipated. And Jacobs's body was a spreadeagled stain on the ice below.

Long ago, Flanaghan had shot for the school team. He had been in the Combined Cadet Force. So he had at least some idea of how to use the rifle. He hoped he wouldn't have to.

Time was deceptive out here. He knew that. You could check your watch what seemed like minutes after the last time and find you'd been out walking for hours. Or you could walk for hours, and find that only a few minutes had pa.s.sed. Flanaghan had no idea how long it took him to make his careful way back to the village. He was increasingly wary as he approached. The other soldier, the woman, was out here somewhere. Perhaps she was looking for him. Or perhaps she was waiting with Anji.

In fact, Anji was alone. He could see her in the distance, a dark figure sprawled at the base of the skeletal fragments of a building. He was worried that she didn't move. But as he approached, watching all the time for movement, for the woman with the gun to rise up from the snow and replay his own trick of earlier, he saw Anji stretch and shift position uncomfortably. She was tied to the wooden upright, he realised.

'Where is she?' he hissed as soon as he was close enough.

Anji's eyes were wide with surprise and fear. She shook her head.'. No Idea. She cuffed me here and went after you, I think.' She saw the rifle in his hands and her jaw dropped. 'What where's Jacobs?'

'He met with a bit of an accident,' Flanaghan bent to examine the handcuffs that secured Anji to the piece of wood. 'Very sad.'

'Don't suppose you have a key?'

He shook his head. 'Nor a saw, before you ask.' He blew out a long misty breath as he considered. 'OK, here's the plan. Lean back, far as you can, so the chain is stretched tight against the wood. And look away.'

She didn't look happy. 'What are you going to do?'

'I'm going to shoot the chain.'

'What if you miss?'

'I won't. But maybe the wood is solid enough to stop a bullet. She just looked at him.

'Do you have a better plan?' he asked.

'Ido.'

And he realised that she wasn't looking at him at all. She was looking past him at the woman who had just spoken. The woman with the gun.

'Drop the gun, and turn round very slowly.'

'Sorry,' he murmured to Anji. He dropped the rifle, letting it hang for a moment by its strap before he laid it down in the soft snow. It sank in leaving a shadow of itself in the crust. He turned, slowly.

'Where's Jacobs?' she asked as she approached him. She kept the gun pointed at him, kept her eyes focused on him.

'He fell off a cliff.'

She didn't react. She was right in front of him now, her rifle aimed up at his face as she stooped down, reached to get the rifle he had dropped in the snow.

As he had dropped it, Flanaghan had let the strap fall away from the rifle so that it looped out close to his foot. He kept his eyes fixed on the soldier's, keeping her attention, as he moved his foot just enough to get the toe of his boot inside the loop of strap, just enough to pull the rifle away as she reached for it.

The woman's hand closed on nothing but snow. She scrabbled round, and inevitably glanced down.

As soon as she looked away, Flanaghan kicked out. He had intended to kick her gun away and then try to grab her before she recovered. But his foot was caught in the rifle strap still, and instead he sent spray of stinging snow up into her face, her eyes, as she looked down.

She cried out in surprise, blinking at the melting snow, raising her own gun again. His foot was still caught in the strap.

But then Anji was moving. Keeping hold of the wooden pillar, she swung her whole body round in an arc. Anji's feet connected with Sonya's head and sent it snapping backwards, knocking her down. But Sonya was still holding the gun.

The shot echoed off the snow and ice. It caught Flanaghan red*hot in the shoulder and sent him reeling. His foot was still tangled, but that meant the rifle went with him. He scrabbled, wrestled for it.

Another shot.

There was a look of complete surprise on the female soldier's face. Just for a moment, just for as long as it took for her to register what had happened.

That Flanaghan had shot Anji.

Or rather, as Flanaghan could see the woman now realised, he had shot through the chain that held the handcuffs together. And Anji was pushing herself away from the upright wooden post, crawling backwards through the snow to get as far away from the woman with the gun as she could, trying to get to her feet. Flanaghan could see over the woman's shoulder as she turned back, as she aimed at him. He could see that Anji knew what was about to happen, was struggling out of her coat and flinging it desperately at the woman to try to spoil her aim. The coat wrapped round the gun just as she pulled the trigger.

Flanaghan felt another burning impact and was on his back, struggling with his own gun. 'Run, Anji,' he shouted. But it sounded like a croak, and he doubted she had heard. He struggled to sit up, tasted the blood metallic in his mouth, saw the woman shrugging away Anji's coat, turning, bringing her rifle to bear on Anji as she scrabbled away.

Without really knowing what he was doing, Flanaghan fired again. He managed to remain upright long enough to see the eruption of blood from the back of the woman's head, long enough to see Anji scramble at last to her feet and half*run, half*tumble away across the snow.

Suddenly he was looking up at the grey sky, watching the flutter of snowflakes, hearing the moaning cry of the wind. It sounded like a man sighing, struggling to draw breath through blood, gasping out the last of*

Within a minute, she was completely lost. If Flanaghan was still alive, he would have called out for her. If Sonya was still alive, she would be hunting for her. But even if they were both dead, Anji no longer had any idea where in this white wilderness they were, no idea how to get back to the village.

The snow was falling quickly now, plastering over her footprints so that she could not retrace her steps. She wished she hadn't panicked, hadn't run. But that was no use now. Life was full of what*ifs, of decisions taken or not taken and opportunities lost. If the universe split every time someone made a choice, she thought, then somewhere in the multiple set of realities there was an Anji who had never left the Doctor; who had never come to Siberia; who still had her coat.

But there was also an Anji who had died with Dave; who had been killed when Hartford's plane crashed with her still on board; who had been shot by Sonya in the cold white snow...

Not that it mattered now. She was alone, lost, lying in the deepening snow with no coat. Her face was sore and numb, her whole body shaking uselessly in a futile effort to generate some warmth. And Anji knew, as surely as she had ever known anything, that she would be dead within a few minutes.

21: Nothing to Declare

'I hope you haven't gone to all this trouble just for me.'

'What do you mean?' Curtis asked. He seemed preoccupied, worried. The Doctor's attempt at light conversation as they sat in the plane did not seem to relax him.

'This.' The Doctor gestured in the air. 'Such a large plane. A cargolifter, is that what they're called?' He looked round, like a child in a toy shop. 'Absolutely fascinating.'

'And why would we go to this trouble for you?' Holiday asked laconically as he strapped himself in across the aisle.

'Well, it hardly seems necessary for just the four of us. Six, if you include the pilot and co*pilot, I suppose.' He smiled warmly and rubbed his hands together. 'I thought perhaps it was a generous accommodation for my blue box.'

Holiday's eyes narrowed. The Grand d.u.c.h.ess settled herself into a seat further along and studiously ignored them.

Noticing this, the Doctor added loudly: 'I mean the d.u.c.h.ess's trunk is pretty substantial for a short break in Siberia, but even that and my box together hardly warrant the use of this sort of technology.'

Curtis turned, with apparent effort. There was an empty seat between him and the Doctor and he peered across it. His pupils were black pinp.r.i.c.ks in his opaque eyes. The pores of his skin were dark dots. 'Your blue box intrigues me, Doctor.'