It was easy to arrange. Dead easy.
She simply picked up a phone two minutes after arriving and called. The man on the other end of the line was surprised to hear her voice. He was even more surprised to hear what she had to offer him.
"How would you like to kill a high-ranking government officer for Christmas?"
There was a dry chuckle from the other end. "Would I? Now, that would be really something," he drawled in his familiar Dublin brogue. "Who d'you have in mind?"
She told him. He sounded slightly disappointed.
"C19, is it? Flying saucers an' that crap... not really much a threat to the Cause. Still, she was a regular for a while, wasn't she? That's good enough. She'll be no soft target, though," he warned.
"Don't worry about that. I've got it all worked out. Get three of your best men together now. I'll provide the tools, you provide the talent."
"Fair enough. Where and when?"
She gave him a location and time. He whistled. "Short notice."
"But you'll be here. I've a few other names I could try if you're not available..."
"No, no..." he replied hastily. "Of course we'll be there. Wouldn't pass up a chance like this, now. We're due for springing a little surprise on someone. It's been a little quiet of late. High time we reminded folk we were still around! Give me half an hour."
"Fine. Half an hour, Corrigan, no less. Or I go with someone else. I don't have much time."
He chuckled. "Darlin', who has these days? Funny though..."
"What?"
"I'd a thought you'd do a deal like this by yourself."
"Like I said, I need to make it look authentic," she paused. "And there's a possibility I might need back-up. Just in case. And besides," now she chuckled, "it is the season for giving."
"And you naturally thought of me. How kind o'you, darlin'!"
They laughed briefly. "See you in half an hour," she said.
The line went dead. She smiled grimly and went away to prepare.
This time, there would be no mistakes.
***
Hilda Simmons yawned, then cast a glance at the time showing in the right hand corner of her monitor screen. 01.13. Damn. As late as that. And she'd promised her doctor that she'd cut back on her late night working sessions. Then again, she reflected wryly, when the Ministry stopped cutting back on her staff, she'd start cutting back on doing the work of several people.
"Never going to happen," she murmured, plucking her reading glasses off and rubbing at the bridge of her nose. She yawned again. "God, I'm bushed." She caught a glimpse of her reflection in the monitor screen; a handsome woman in her mid forties, with copper tinted hair flecked with distinguished grey. Distinguished, pah... just another sign of getting old.
"The hell with it." She clicked the mouse onto save, consigning the half-finished report to her hard-drive. "I need sleep." Her eyes fell on the decanter and tumblers on the little tray on the table across the study. "A night-cap, why not..."
She stood up stiffly (another sign of age) and stretched, before plodding wearily across the room. She was just lifting the decanter when there was a soft knock at the door. "Come in," she called. A young man in a sober dark suit with a neat military-length haircut stepped into the room.
"Do you need anything else this evening, Ma'am?"
"No thank you, George. You turn in." She noticed his rather disapproving glance at the glass in her hand. Her new chauffeur-cum-bodyguard was beginning to show alarming tendencies towards undue concern about her health. She raised her eyebrows and her glass at him. "Would you care for night-cap?"
"No thank you, ma'am. I never touch the stuff these days. Slows the reactions and dulls the senses."
"Just what I need then," she replied, eyes twinkling as she took a slow sip.
"Yes, ma'am. 6.30 start tomorrow, ma'am?" he reminded her gently.
She sighed. Point taken. "Yes, George. 6.30, as usual. Good night."
"Good night, ma'am." He closed the door quietly behind him. Hilda raised her glass in sarcastic salute, then turned and wandered back to her desk and sat back down in front of her PC. She clicked on an icon on the screen and grinned. "Just a quick blast before I turn in..."
"Good morning, and welcome to Lords..."
The commentator's voice drifted up from the speaker and Hilda settled back. This time, England would win the Ashes!
***
A group of black clad figures sat in a nondescript dark van outside Hilda's large house. The rest of street was quiet, a sleepy suburb in a small Surrey town in the London commuter belt.
"Is it time?" one of them hissed. They all clutched assault weapons in their hands.
A pause, then a woman answered. "Yes. The bodyguard will be going off duty now. Corrigan, you and Harper deal with him. You know what to do." Corrigan grinned and nodded. "Rafferty, you and O'Mara will find the woman. She'll probably be on the first or second floor. Find her and bring her down to me. I'd prefer her alive, to begin with, but if she resists, kill her. And remember..."
"Yeah, kill her, but leave the head untouched." A couple of the men looked at their leader quizzically, but he shrugged. If the lady wanted the head, then she'd get it. It was the least they could do in return for all the work she'd put their way in the past.
The girl grasped his arm firmly and squeezed, her eyes glittering menacingly. "Remember that, Corrigan. I want the head!"
***
Hilda sighed and shook her head, switching the PC off. She'd never get the hang of it. It was the fielding positions she always had trouble with. No matter where she put her fielders, the opposition always found the gaps. Not that her useless bowlers helped...
There was a muffled thump and clatter of something falling over downstairs. She frowned. George getting a late snack from the kitchen? Couldn't be... the man was ridiculously meticulous in his eating habits. Then there was a dull clunk and the lights flickered and died. Cold moonlight filtered through the window drapes. Power cut? Something icy waltzed down her spine and she shivered. No, something was wrong here. Very wrong...
She was about to reach for her internal phone when the door swung open and a young woman rushed inside. She was dressed in a dark jump suit and had some kind of hi-tech mask shoved up on her forehead. But what really took Hilda's attention was the dark-bladed long knife in her hand. "What the hell-"
"Hilda Simmons?" the girl snapped, advancing menacingly.
"Yes, but who-"
The girl held out her free hand. "Come with me if you want to live."
"What? Now look here..." Hilda snatched up the phone and put it to her ear. It was dead.
The girl shook her head. "Forget it. They've killed your communication systems. Cut the landline and set up a scrambler to block mobile and radio signals within a five-mile radius. You're calling no one tonight, and neither is anyone else in the vicinity. Now move!"
She grabbed Hilda and all but hurled her from the room. "Up!" the girl ordered. Hilda hurried up to the second floor of the house. Below her, she heard movement. Footfalls, on the stairs leading up to the first floor.
The girl shoved Hilda into one of the rooms. "Stay put. I hoped to get you away before they arrived, but I got delayed," she whispered, and made to shut the door.
But Hilda blocked it. "What the hell is going on? And who the hell are you?" she hissed,
"You are about to be the victim of a horrible murder staged to look like a terrorist attack. I am the one who's going to stop it. Now shut up and stay out of the way!"
"I have a bodyguard, George. He's-"
"Dead. They got him first." Then she added in afterthought: "Sorry."
Hilda blinked. Things were happening too fast. She struggled to remain calm and clear minded. "Look, if they killed George and are after me in my own house..."
"Don't get any heroic notions. You're outmatched five to one."
"I was a Captain in the British Army before this. I do know how to use a gun."
The girl shook her head. "You'd only get in the way. Leave this to me!" She pushed Hilda back and closed the door, locking it behind her. Then she ran quietly back towards the stairs, crouching low, pulling the mask down over her face. The darkness became light as the lenses powered up.
The first one was coming along the landing towards the second floor stairs already. Behind her she heard muffled thumping as the woman tried fruitlessly to open the door. The assassin must have heard it as he was making a beeline for the direction the sound was coming from. He too was dressed in dark clothes and had infrared goggles over his eyes. As the suit the girl was wearing rendered her invisible to all forms of scanning it was going to do him little good. The wonders of 24th century technology.
He was on his own. She heard the sound of doors being pushed open. Searching, and in a hurry. Their mistake. Never hurry a mission like this, and never ever split up from your partner. She laid in the dark at the top of the stairs and waited until his head was level with the landing, then she grabbed it and punched her long blade through the side of his skull. He died in an instant. She laid the body gently down on the stairs, dropped lightly down beside it and pulled the blade clear. She padded lightly towards the stairs leading to the ground floor, passing each door warily.
Another man came out of the room she'd only recently taken the woman out of, but he'd paused, possibly at some small sound she must have made when she laid the body down. These guys weren't that bad after all. She'd have to be careful.
"Daragh?" he called softly, weapon raised and ready. He didn't see her stealthily approaching down the landing towards him.
A floorboard creaked slightly beneath her foot. Not very loud, but just enough to alert the man to her presence. He squeezed the trigger and sent a wild burst up the stairs blindly. The girl threw herself forward into him beneath his arc of fire, driving him to the ground. She thrust the knife blade smoothly into his heart and rolled clear of the body. She heard shouts from downstairs. Damn. There goes my element of surprise. Have to move quickly now...
She vaulted over the banisters and landed with cat-like ease on the floor below, just as a door in front of her was flung open and a man came running out, machine pistol raised. The girl flung the blade in one easy motion, striking him dead centre through the forehead. He fell backwards with a surprised grunt. She pulled another blade free from a sheath behind her back as another man appeared in the doorway. She threw just as he tried to dodge back. He gave a yell of agony and she heard a crash as he fell down. She'd hit him, but how badly? The girl jumped over his fallen comrade and ran in after him to finish him off.
Bullets suddenly thudded into the wall above her head and she dived for cover. The firing stopped and she looked around from her position on the floor behind a very long, very big row of cupboards situated underneath a worktop/bar. Steel utensils hung down from hooks on the cupboards above her. Behind her was a big wooden table and a couple of fridge freezers pushed against the wall. The kitchen.
"Raychel?" she called out.
"Who's that?" Another girl's voice drifted from the room beyond. The scullery, probably. She sounded quite close.
"It's me, Lucylla."
"Lucylla? What the cruk are you doing here?"
"I've come for your target, Raychel."
"Like hell! Get yer own!"
"Sorry, Raychel. Are you gonna let me take her quietly?"
"Oh, sure!"
There was a bright flash and the cupboard she was sheltering behind suddenly shook with a rattle and a roar. Smoke and debris rained around her. There was a second flash and explosion, then a third. Bit by bit, her cover was being demolished.
"Energy beam, Raychel? Goes against the time line, you know! How are they going to explain this in the history books?"
"Cruk the history books!" The cupboard door to Lucylla's left blew off its hinges and a bright streak flashed through and smashed one of the freezers into smoking junk. The odour of burnt plastic and meat produce filled the room. She didn't have much time left. She groped in her pocket and pulled out a slim metal tube. She flicked a switch and lobbed it into the darkness, tensing to leap over the bar after it. The tube clattered to the ground and she heard Raychel swear again and start to move very quickly away.
Too late. There was a massive detonation and a searing flash of light. Lucylla leapt over the bar and ran into the blast-ruined room. Raychel was sprawling across the ruins of a wooden cabinet, struggling feebly to get up, face and clothes charred and blackened by the blast. "Now who's cheating!" she croaked.
Lucylla grinned and kicked Raychel's weapon away, still keeping her distance from her fallen foe, covering her with a slim automatic with a silencer on the barrel. Raychel was lethal even when her wings had been clipped. With the possible exception of Tymus - and herself - Raychel was the most lethal of the Kids.
And the most psychotic. Even Lavarre didn't use her for certain jobs. She was too much of a loose cannon. Unpredictable. It was a wonder she'd lasted this long.
"Sorry about that. Now, Raychel, you have two choices. You can either go back with me alive, or you can go back with me dead. Which do you prefer?"
A sly look spread across Raychel's feral features. "What's in it for me if I do what you want?"
Lucylla shrugged. "A second chance, maybe. I'm taking over from Lavarre, shortly. I might need some help doing it. Interested?" If she could convince her...
"Maybe. What's the plan?"
Something in her expression... Lucylla swung round and saw a man rising up and bringing a gun to bear on her back - the one she hadn't had chance to finish off. Her knife jutted from his shoulder, but he managed to point his weapon one-handed. Lucylla jumped sideways with blinding speed and rolled for cover as he fired, the bullets smashing the wall above Raychel's head, showering her with more plaster and fragments. She yelled as she squeezed herself closer to the floor. "Corrigan, you gimboid! Aim!"
Corrigan gritted his teeth as the knife blade grated against his collar-bone. He could feel warm blood soaking his clothes. Aim? She was lucky he was even standing! He swung round trying to follow the direction of Lucylla's flight with another burst, but the gun jammed on empty. Corrigan dropped the machine pistol and fumbled agonisingly for his back-up piece.
He never made it. Lucylla raised up and shot him twice through the head, swinging round again to cover Raychel -
Who had vanished.
"Oh hell..." Lucylla breathed. She started to stand when something hard pressed into the back of her head.
"Drop the weapon."
Lucylla let the pistol slip from her grasp. Her hearts sank. How could I ever think of convincing her to join with me?
"I always did say Lavarre over-rated you, Lucylla. You should have killed me when you had the chance."
"At least I do my own killing!"
"So do I, lovey, as you're about to find out in a moment..."
"Do you think Lavarre will be happy about that?" Lucylla's mind raced desperately. It was unlikely she could ever reach one of her weapons in time. Perhaps she could talk her out of it - or at least get her to drop her guard...
"I don't know... maybe after I tell him you've been plannin' to take over from him."
"His own words, Raychel."
She sniggered. "I bet! No, I think when I tell him you've been plotting to kill him, and everyone else... yes, that would do it! Y'know, he's had a bee in his bonnet about someone second-guessing him. Wouldn't it be funny if it turned out to be you!"
"It isn't," she replied, but she felt funny saying so anyway.
"The question is, do I take you back for interrogation, or should this be another of those dull old, oh-what-a-shame, shot while trying to escape type scenarios?"
Lucylla licked her lips and tensed. Now or never. "I have a choice?"
"No. Goodbye, Lucylla. I never liked you."
Lucylla shut her eyes. Three shots rang out rapidly. There was a surprised and agonised cry - and Raychel fell down on top of her - dead.
"You all right?"
Hilda Simmons came into view, holding a pistol in both hands. Lucylla shoved the body away from her and stood up. For the first time in a long time, she felt decidedly shaky. Don't lose it now, girl, she told herself. You've too much left to do this night...
"You shot her!"
Hilda cocked an eyebrow and waved the gun she'd retrieved from one of the corpses on the first floor. "Well, she didn't look the sort to be taken alive. And I did tell you I knew how to use one of these!"
Lucylla looked down at the bullet entry holes - in Raychels' back. "You shot her in the back!" she said wonderingly.
Hilda sighed. "Well, I wasn't about to tell her to turn round. I saw how quick she jumped onto that table." She came over and looked down at Raychel. "Not human, is she?"
"Not in any way you'd know." Lucylla stood up slowly and brushed herself down, eyeing the other woman warily. Hilda was doing the same. Her gun wasn't pointed at Lucylla, but it wasn't exactly pointed away from her. Lucylla realised this one was good as well. She'd have to be quick...
"Question is, are you either?"
"I'm afraid not. I'm..." she considered for a moment, then: "Gallifreyan."
Hilda nodded. "Ahhh, yes... did the Doctor send you?"
"I'm here because of him, yes."
"To save me from this attack?"
"That's correct. Raychel here set this up to look like a terrorist attack. She would have succeeded, too. Your defences are a joke."
Hilda raised her eyebrows. "I apologise! I'm not used to being the target of assassination attempts led by aliens."
"Being who you are and what you know, I'd have thought you should be at least alert to the idea."
Hilda smiled grimly. "You mean as section chief of C19, the ghosties and ghoulies branch of the British secret service? Yes, well... if you're who you claim you are, you'd know that, given the kind of opposition we encounter, their technology would be far superior to any form of defence or security I might be able to put up. Or more to the point, what my department would pay for." She was lucky she had a bodyguard, she supposed. Then her face fell. "Poor George... are you quite sure they killed him?"
"I would have," Lucylla muttered, just below Hilda's hearing.
"I beg your pardon?"
"I said I'm quite sure he is. But don't let me stop you from checking." She gestured towards the door.
Hilda shook her head. If George were alive, he would have come by now. And besides, she wanted to keep this dangerous girl in her sight. There was something not quite right going on here. She couldn't believe that the Doctor would send anyone so lethal to protect her. "What we need is official help. Police and an ambulance," she said briskly. She gazed around the destruction and shook her head again. "Just look at my kitchen! Only had it fitted in June."
She reached for a phone hanging from the wall, but Lucylla stopped her. "Dead, remember?"
"An unfortunate word to use under the circumstances, but you're right. You said this telecommunications breakdown extends along the whole street?" Lucylla nodded. "Right, no good knocking the neighbours up then..." Not that they'd be much use anyway. Stockbrokers and interior designers, for the most part. Hardly the sort you'd turn to in an emergency. Hilda thought for a moment, then snapped her fingers. "I know, there's a phone box at the end of the avenue. We'll try that!" She indicated towards the back door with her pistol. "Come on. A breath of air will do us both the world of good."
Lucylla started to come forward, then paused, digging into her suit for something. Hilda stiffened, tightening her grip on her weapon. Lucylla noticed and smiled easily. "Relax! Hang on... here, try this!" She tossed Hilda a slim metallic disc. Hilda caught it instinctively and studied it gingerly.
"What is it, a Gallifreyan mobile?"
Shaking her head, Lucylla smiled. "No, it's a transference signaller." She raised her arm and touched a stud set into the side of the watch on her wrist.
With a low hum, Hilda shimmered and disappeared, surprise etched across her face. Lucylla made an ironic gesture of farewell.
"Be seeing you," she said quietly.
Next: Time to Kill
