Chapter Three: "A Murder Is Announced"
(or "Snow Time Like the Present")
by Cameron Dixon
"Well, *this* is interesting," the Doctor said brightly.
Jamie groaned and slumped further down into his chair. This was the
fourth time the Doctor had said "Well, *this* is interesting" about
something in the security chief's office, and he'd said it in exactly
the same tone of voice each time. The first time it had been about a
map of the mountain, on which dangerous areas of potential snow
accumulation had been highlighted; the second time, he'd found the
security chief's nameplate, "M. SLONOSKY", on the desk; the third time
the focus of his attention had been an allegedly humorous pencil
sharpener in the shape of a downhill skier. The plastic tourist was
squatting on his skis, his arms tucked in by his sides and his knees
bent to lower wind resistance, and Victoria had gone a fascinating shade
of bright red when she'd seen where the pencil was supposed to go in.
This time the Doctor was holding a small glass paperweight with a
model of the ski lodge built inside. With a quick flick of his wrist,
he filled the globe with a miniature snowstorm, and beamed at Jamie like
a child with a new toy. And what an appropriate phrase that was.
"Yes, very nice, Doctor," Jamie said. "Now don't you think we
should be trying to find some way out of here?"
The Doctor blinked at him. "Well, there's always the door, but,
now, why on Earth would we want to do that? We can find out so much
more about lodge security in here. You can learn a lot about a man by
examining his office supplies."
"But why would we want to?" Jamie demanded. "Why don't we just go
back to the TARDIS and get out of here?"
"Oh, we can't leave," the Doctor said. "Not now." Absently, he
shook up the lodge once again, obscuring it behind a driving wall of
snow. "Not until we've found out who killed that poor man."
"Oh, do we have to?" Victoria moaned. "Can't we just leave it to
the proper authorities, just this once?"
"Aye," Jamie said. "It's none of our business. And that Davis
looks like he'd as soon lock us up as give us the time of day."
"Three-thirty in the afternoon," said the Doctor, "and I'm afraid it
became our business the moment Mr Simmons spoke to us. No two people
are alike, and the loss of one diminishes us all. Murder is not
something we can turn our back on. Not ever. Not without making us
less than what we are. Besides," he added, "if we were to leave now,
the, ah, authorities, would most likely take that as an admission of
guilt, and concentrate their efforts on locating us again, rather than
locating the real killer. And that would permit the murderer to escape
scot free. I do beg your pardon, Jamie, I wasn't thinking."
"I suppose you're right," Victoria sighed. She looked at the map
which the Doctor had pointed out earlier. "What are those numbers on
the side?"
The Doctor smiled, pleased with the change of topic, and pottered
over to the map for a closer look. "Depth measurements," he said,
scanning the list for a moment. "Density readings. Hoar."
"I *beg* your pardon."
"Tiny ice crystals," the Doctor explained, "formed beneath large
deposits of snow by the evaporation of the actual snow crystals and, er,
other factors which I can't quite recall at the moment. Basically,
instead of resting on the mountain itself, all that snow at the top is
resting on a flat, and not entirely horizontal, bed of ice."
"Here, you don't think..." Jamie started.
"Oh, I don't think we're in any danger there," the Doctor said with
all of the cheerful optimism with which he'd walked into the Cyber-tombs
of Telos. "That's what the blasting we heard earlier was all about. No,
all we have to worry about is having a murderer on the loose. Ah," he
continued as the door opened, "progress at last." He held out a hand to
greet the security chief as he entered. Unfortunately, it was the hand
which was still holding the paperweight.
"Please put that back," Slonosky said.
He was a tall, thin man who looked and sounded as though somebody
had rubbed a mixture of pepper and salt into his hair, and had then
scraped it across and forced some down his throat for good measure. An
expression of great weariness had settled over the craggy slopes of his
face long ago, and as he drifted across to his desk, the wrinkles around
his eyes seemed to say "please tell me something I can use to make all
of my problems go away" more eloquently than actual spoken syllables
ever could.
"Well," he said eventually. "Christmas has come early, this year.
One dead body and three suspects and I didn't even hang a stocking out."
The Doctor coughed. "Now that's hardly a pleasant way to begin, is
it?" he asked mildly. "There's really no need to be so
confrontational."
"No need," Slonosky repeated. "You got onto the slopes without lift
passes, you're not registered as guests here at the lodge, and yet you
don't look as though you walked over the mountains and through fifty
miles of snow to get here, carrying a telephone box all the way..."
"That's hardly the important matter here, is it?" the Doctor
inquired, his voice somehow managing to convey genuine surprise that
anybody would waste their time on such trivia.
"...and less than half an hour after you arrive, the one man you
speak to is murdered."
"And surely that's what you should be concentrating on." The Doctor
leaned forward persuasively. "I can tell you care a great deal for this
resort," he said. "Just look at all of the souvenirs you have dotted
about the office..."
Slonosky raised an eyebrow. "Office supplies," he said. "The
chateau gift shop is much more convenient than a three-hour drive to
Boulder."
The Doctor deflated. "Oh." He paused, and then rallied.
"Nevertheless. If you're going to solve this crime, you really do need
our help."
Slonosky raised his other eyebrow. "Your help?" he repeated again.
"Have you forgotten that you're suspects? Can you give me any reason
why I shouldn't just have the police haul you off right now?"
The doorknob suddenly rattled around in its housing. As Jamie and
Victoria turned around to look, the door was flung open and Davis burst
in, out of breath. "Sir! There's..." he glanced at the Doctor and his
companions, caught his breath for a moment, but then swallowed and
continued. "There's been another murder."
"Well, there," the Doctor said, "there's a perfectly good reason."
Schoene placed his finger on the receiver, cutting the connection to the
Weather Centre. "Well, that's it," he said.
"Confirmation?"
"Oh yeah."
A building full of radar screens, seismic detectors, satellite
imaging systems, and lots of other things with pretty flashing lights,
all of them saying the same thing. Canada was exporting a packet of
big, bad weather, and Puma Mountain was right in its path.
"All right," Schone said. He punched in the number for the ski
lodge, lifted his hand and made a whirring motion with his finger.
"Everyone out of the pool."
Lightning played across the slopes as the paparazzi fired their flashes
at Princess Emily, schlossing down the ski run after her errant son.
She cursed them silently and tucked her arms in closer to her body.
"Philip!" she shouted. "You stop this right now!"
A particularly bright flash blinded her for a moment, and despite
herself, she flinched. In that one moment her legs wobbled, her skis
crossed, and the princess tumbled into a muscle-numbing somersault down
the slopes. The news lightning struck again as she slid to a halt on the
powdered surface, and she shouted a word which would have been bleeped
out of Entertainment Tonight that very evening if other circumstances
hadn't caught up with the people of Puma Mountain first.
But she was unaware of what was to come, and her damaged pride
throbbed with a dull pain when she tried to rise. Princess Grace never
had it this bad, she thought despairingly, and looked back down the
slope.
Just in time to see Philip swerve to one side, glance back with a
devilish look on his face, and disappear into the woods.
"She was so beautiful, the day we met," Rayna Morrow said dreamily. "She
drifted across the floor like a feather on the wind, and I knew I had to
speak with her, to know her."
Slonosky nodded patiently. The singer's gaze was drifting dreamily
about the room like the first snowflake of winter, focussed on nothing
in the present. At the moment, Rayna Morrow was floating serenely above
the world, but he knew that soon enough she'd hit the earth again and it
would all come tumbling down upon them.
"It was as if I'd found the other part of me. The bits I knew I'd
been missing all my life."
The body of Mei Sukahara sprawled across the floor, no longer
beautiful, no longer drifting. A blanket of white silk spilled over the
side of the bed and piled on the floor, its purity marred by specks of
blood-red. The wall beside the bed was black and red where the bullet,
and other things, had come out.
Slonosky sighed and made a little motion to one of his men,
indicating that he should lead the singer away. "We'll have to seal the
room off," he said, "until the police get here. We'll have to leave
your belongings where they are, you understand? Not to disturb the
crime scene."
"Quite wise," the Doctor said. "Of course, there's quite a lot we
can tell as it is, without moving anything."
"We used to finish each other's sentences," Rayna said as Delgado
gently took her arm and guided her towards the hall.
"Take the position of the body," the Doctor continued. "Rather
indicative, wouldn't you say?"
"Not really," Slonosky said. "I never use the word indicative." He
blinked for a moment and stared at the Doctor. "By the way, what the
*hell* are you doing here? I thought I told you to stay back in the
security office!"
"Did you?" the Doctor asked, surprised. "No, I don't think so. I
think I would have remembered you saying something like that. Have you
noticed the tub is still running?"
As Slonosky tried and failed to think of some way to respond to this
which didn't involved pulling out his baton, there was a commotion by
the door, and somebody forced their way past Delgado and Morrow. "Let
me through. Let me through, it's all right, I'm a journalist--"
"No comment," Slonosky said automatically, before his brain had
consciously registered that there was somebody there. He turned to see
what was going to go wrong this time. "Oh. Ms Stanley. It's you."
Rarely had so much world-weariness been packed into so few
syllables. Mara suddenly felt the urge to pat him on the shoulder, tell
him everything was going to be all right, and send him to bed with a cup
of warm lemon tea. She pulled herself together. "Mara Stanley," she
snapped, "CNN, and I -- oh." Whatever she was going to ask suddenly
became irrelevant as she took in the state of the room, and the body
within. "Oh."
The Doctor was suddenly there, bustling forward like a cheerful wall
of fur, grasping the surprised Stanley by the hands. "Why, hello
there," he said cheerfully, "and very opportune your arrival, too. A
journalist, are you? Tell me, have you noticed anything odd about the
positioning of the body?"
"Er..." Mara began, still somewhat stunned, "may I ask who..."
"Oh, of course. How inconsiderate of me. Well, I'm known as the
Doctor, and I'm assisting Mr Slonosky here in his inquiries."
"Doctor," Slonosky began, "if you'd just--"
"I wonder if you'd be so kind as to confirm my suspicions here?"
The Doctor held Ms Stanley by the hand and led her over to the body.
"Now, the blast damage and the position of the body would seem to
indicate that she was shot by someone standing in or near the doorway of
her room, wouldn't you agree?"
Mara coughed uneasily. "I... actually, I'm an entertainment
reporter, I haven't... done that many crime scenes, really... Well, I
covered the set report for 'Showgirls', but, I mean... I'm sorry, I'm
babbling, aren't I? Isn't that Mei Sukahara? That's Mei Sukahara,
isn't it?" She turned around and fixed Slonosky with a glare. "Just
what the hell is going on, here?"
Slonosky shifted in position, and his feet squished in the carpet.
He experienced a moment of existential cop horror before realising that
the water from the tub was starting to soak out of the bathroom.
"Davis?" he shouted, for want of anything better to do. "Do something
about that, will you, before all the evidence gets washed away?"
"You're treating this as a murder scene, then?" Stanley snapped,
recovering from the shock, all business again. "Is that why you've had
Ms Morrow taken into custody?"
"Nobody has been taken into custody," Slonosky replied, and then
realised what he'd said and shot a glance at the Doctor. "Not
officially. Not *yet*," he corrected himself. "Ms Morrow has had a
great shock -- excuse me --" he moved to one side to let Davis past, "a
great shock, and Delgado is simply escorting her to the lodge's medical
centre so she can relax. We will not be pressing any kind of charges or
asking her about her discovery of the body until she recovers from the,
ah..."
The bedside lamp and overhead lights flickered with an ominous
buzzing noise and a choked scream came from the bathroom, where Davis
was jittering in position, his face fixed in a rictus of agony, his
hands welded to the taps of the bathtub, sparks flying about his body
until his leg slammed out from beneath him and kicked against the tub
and knocked his hands away from the metal taps, breaking the circuit and
letting him fall, hair smoking, mouth fixed in a gaping silent scream,
hands burnt and blackened by the lethal voltage.
"...shock," Slonosky whispered.
"Oh dear," said the Doctor. "This does make things rather more
complicated."
It was a good life, thought Walter Crane; a fine Puma Mountain vista in
the window of the honeymoon suite, silk sheets and a goose-down duvet
beneath his body, a crackling fire filling the room with warmth, light
and shadow, and a beautiful woman to massage all of the troubles and
cares out of his back and shoulders.
Yes, it was good, but it would be better if the beautiful woman's
mind was on what she was doing. He winced as she squeezed his shoulder
in almost exactly the wrong way. "Is something on your mind, honey?"
"Oh, it's nothing," Heidi replied.
"Just..." he prompted.
She sighed, and ran her hands across his back. "Just thinking about
Matt, that's all. Not in that way," she said quickly, as if suddenly
remembering what she was doing. "I mean, you heard some of the things
he said to me. To us. I'm just afraid he might actually try to follow
us here..."
"Czubik? That rube?" Walter shifted around, pressing himself into
the silk, trying to relax. "Believe me, honey, you don't need to worry
about him any more. He's out of your life for good."
"You just don't know how vicious he could be!"
"I have an idea," Walter said.
"He had such a terrible temper. I never knew when I married him
just how... And then, when those videos of us ended up on the
Internet... He was so angry. He kept shouting, he was terrified of what
people would think of us when they saw them..."
Walter reached up and squeezed her hand reassuringly. He kept his
mouth shut, however; somehow, "darling, that's when I first fell in love
with you" didn't seem to be the right thing to say under the
circumstances.
"Oh, look at me," she sighed. "I know, I keep telling myself he's
gone, I don't have to deal with him any more, but I still can't help but
feel he's going to walk through that door any minute..."
"Not likely." Walter gave up and rolled over beneath her, looked
her right in the eyes and spoke with all the sincerity he could fake.
And he was an advertising executive, after all. "Don't worry, dear.
Believe me, I told you I'd take care of you, and I've taken care of this
as well. You don't have to worry about Matt Czubik. Not now, not ever.
It's over."
Heidi smiled down at him and ran her hands over his chest. Her
bathrobe flapped open as she leaned forward, affording him a luxurious
view of a dangerously curved downhill slope. "How are you feeling now?"
she murmured. "Not all stiff and sore anymore?"
He grinned at her. "Actually..."
"Physicists call it the avalanche effect," the Doctor said.
Mara wrapped her hands around a cup of coffee and tried to focus on
his voice, and not on the image of Davis falling, always falling to the
floor, never quite reaching it, frozen in her mind halfway to the
ground. Try to be professional about this. No, don't try, just be
professional. Block it out, bury it away, concentrate on the job. The
interview. The truth. His voice droning distantly in her head, not
exactly as if he was thinking aloud, but as if he was thinking silently,
and the words were just arriving as a side-effect.
"When a semi-conductive material is exposed to a flow of free
electrons, it excites the electrons within the material itself. The
additional energy imparted to them by collisions with the new, free
electrons, enables them to escape from their atomic orbits, and they
become free electrons as well. These free electrons collide with other
electrons, passing the additional energy on to them, and so on in a
chain reaction which causes an electrical flow throughout the
semi-conductive material. Once the electrical source is removed, this
additional energy is lost, and without it the free electrons are trapped
within their atomic orbits once again. The avalanche effect."
"Fascinating," Mara lied. "That trap wasn't meant for Davis, was
it? I mean, whoever frayed the lamp wires and wrapped them around the
back of the tub obviously meant either Rayna or Mei to die there. But
why shoot Mei?"
The Doctor considered this. There was something uncomfortably
reassuring about his expression; caring but distant, sympathetic but
preoccupied; in the moment, but not necessarily this particular moment,
as though he was the teddy bear who'd been told that it was his job to
clean up after the picnic.
"It's the manner in which Ms Sukahara was killed which complicates
things," he said. "The position of the body and of the blast damage
indicates that she was shot by someone standing near the door into the
hallway. But if she had surprised someone setting the trap in the
bathroom, then why didn't they shoot her from that position? If they
had to reach for the gun, surely she would have had time to see what
they were doing and run for the door. But that would have put her
between the killer and the doorway, when in fact the evidence suggests
that the exact opposite was the case."
He leaned his fingertips together and frowned. "Does this mean that
they set the trap *after* they shot Ms Sukahara? If so, was the trap
intended for Rayna Morrow? And if so, why didn't the killer move Ms
Sukahara's body so that Ms Morrow didn't realise that anything was
wrong?"
"The blast damage on the wall," Mara offered. "They'd have had to
do some pretty heavy cleaning if they wanted to make it appear that
nothing had happened."
"Yes, but if the scene had been compromised to such an extent
already then why bother to set the trap at all? And come to that, why
set such a trap in the first place? It isn't terribly discriminating,
as poor Davis found out. What guarantee that it would be Ms Morrow that
was the first to fall victim to it? If Ms Morrow was indeed the
intended victim..."
Mara's head was spinning. "Too many questions. This just doesn't
make any sense at all."
"Oh, not yet," the Doctor agreed. "But it will, once we have that
one bit of evidence we're lacking at the moment."
"What bit of evidence? Sorry, the one we're lacking, stupid
question." She took a sip of coffee. "Do this sort of thing often, do
you?"
"Not under these exact circumstances, no..." the Doctor sighed.
"And then there's the question of David Simmons. I really should ask Mr
Slonosky if I could take a look at that room as well, but I think he's
rather upset at the moment. Perhaps if I were to..."
"As well?" Mara interrupted. "You mean there's been another
murder?"
The Doctor looked at her. "Oh, I'm sorry, didn't you know? Yes, a
young man we encountered earlier was killed. I assumed you knew that
was why we were being led from the lodge. You did follow us, didn't
you?"
"Followed you, yeah. A gaggle of security guards escorting away a
party of tourists, especially ones as oddly dressed as you three... But
I didn't hear a word they were saying to you. So someone's killed two
people?"
"If we assume that there's only one killer."
"It would be something of a coincidence if there were two, wouldn't
it?"
The Doctor shrugged. "Don't rule out coincidence," he said.
"Coincidence is just another word for a number of unrelated things
happening all at once. Is there any reason why one killer should *not*
come to Puma Mountain Ski Resort just because another happens to have
come at the same time?"
"It's still not very likely. So, great. We've got a blizzard
closing in and there's a maniac killer on the loose."
"It could be a random lunatic," the Doctor said doubtfully, "but
doesn't the electrical trap indicate that these murders are being
planned out? Perhaps not very well, but there is a method to the madness
nonetheless. I'm afraid the type of genius killer you seem to be
describing is an invention of your rather unpleasant media. No, these
events were set in motion by someone with an agenda. A purpose.
Although I grant you that purpose may not have been focussed directly
against those caught in its path. These may very well be ABC murders --
innocents sacrificed to bury the signal in the noise, to cloud the
motive and hide the real intended victim. In which case, there may be
no way to tell who the next victim will be. Anybody here may be in
danger. Anybody at all."
Mara stared up at the mountain looming over the lodge, a great
snow-capped summit which seemed to lean closer as the scudding clouds
draped it in shadow. She shivered briefly.
"Oh, I'm sorry," the Doctor said, concerned. "I didn't mean to
frighten you."
"I'm not frightened," she said scornfully, "it's just cold."
"Oh." The Doctor considered. "Well, quite right too. I'm sure
there's some simple explanation, or possibly a complex one. In any
case, there's no need to panic. Not unless someone does something
terribly foolish."
* * * * *
This was the game:
There were enemy soldiers, armed with light guns that stole a bit of
your life each time they flashed at you. You had to dodge them, avoid
them, hide from them; each shot cost you points, a bit of your life
energy. You could recharge, get it back a bit at a time if you went long
enough without being shot, but if too many of them flashed at you all at
once then they took your life away from you forever. That was the game.
Philip de Montfort, heir to a tiny European nation east of Grand
Fenwick whose name he still wasn't able to pronounce properly, had
buried himself in the woods in a little hidden fort made of evergreen
and snow. The enemy soldiers were tramping around in the snow outside
with the guns that looked like cameras, and his mother was there too,
with her bodyguards, searching for him, calling out his name. But that
was all part of the game. He was a secret agent extraordinaire, and he
could hide here all day if he wanted, or at least until he got bored.
He peered through the branches, and chuckled as he saw that they were
moving further away.
Beyond the trees, the first few flakes began to drift down.
Chapter Six: "Double Sin"
by Mary Hyde
Philip de Montfont turned on his torch. "Mother?" There was no answer,
but he could still hear the laughter continue as it echoed around the
cave.
"Your mother isn't here now, young prince!" the woman snapped, her
amusement ending abruptly.
He cowered behind a bank of ice and snow as she moved toward him,
her body cutting off the shaft of light and momentarily throwing the
cave back into a blue-hued gloom. "Nobody is here except you and I."
"Who-oo are you?" the boy stammered through chattering teeth.
The woman hunched down in the low cave and shuffled toward him. She
was bundled against the cold, the hood of her thick leather parka hiding
her face. "Come now, Philip," her muffled voice scolded, "pay attention
to the obvious."
"Miss Touloise?" Philip exhaled in relief as he finally recognized
his tutor's voice. "But why were you laughing?"
"Relief, young prince," she retorted sharply, obviously embarrassed
at being overheard. "Relief and amazement that I was still alive."
"Oh." He stamped his booted feet, trying to keep some feeling in
his toes. "But how did you..."
"Princess Emily has everyone out looking for you, young man." Miss
Touloise reached out, wrapping Philip's scarf around his throat and
refastening his coat tightly shut. "If the situation wasn't already so
precarious, I would give you a most thorough tongue-lashing."
"Mother is really angry with me this time, isn't she?" he said in a
tiny, frightened voice.
"Philip, people may have died." His tutor propelled him toward the
lighter end of the cave. "People who wouldn't even have been on this
mountainside if it weren't for you." Philip began to snivel and she
took his shoulders. "Everything has always been a game to you. I as
well as your parents have warned you repeatedly that one day it would
backfire, and now it has." She frowned at his continued tears. "Stop
this crying at once! Is this the sort of behavior one should expect
from a future king?"
"No, Miss Touloise." Ashamed, the boy scrubbed at the half-frozen
droplets on his cheeks.
"No indeed, Philip," the woman said more gently, stopping at the
entrance and staring out at the blowing snow. She held a circular dial
in her gloved hand. A compass. "Now let us see if we cannot get
ourselves somewhere warmer. If I remember the map correctly, there was
some sort of skier's hut... in this direction, I think. With any
luck... come, Philip." And taking his hand, Miss Touloise dragged the
young prince out into the swirling whiteness.
"Damn! I can't get a line through in this awful weather!" Mara Stanley
shook her cell phone in frustration, then switched it off to conserve
the power. "And that idiot cameraman is still nowhere to be seen!" She
sniffed angrily. "Probably laughing his butt off that I'm stuck out
here."
Wishing silently that she'd taken the opportunity to head into town
too, Mara turned back to the thickly wooded area where the Doctor and
his rather attractive Scottish friend had set the survivors to building
a cluster of little shelters from trussed together saplings, fallen
limbs and pine branches. Scores of people were already huddled together
under the flimsy structures, struggling to stay warm as the blizzard
whipped the mountainside.
The reporter trudged through knee-deep snow. In the gloom, she
could just make out where the Scotsman had climbed up into a huge old
pine. Mara couldn't quite remember his name - Jay or James or something
like that. Not that it really mattered all that much. "It's an amazing
coincidence that you two knew how to 'rough it' in the snow," she
squinted up at him, indicating the pine shelters. Even though the wind
was tugging at the man's skirt, she couldn't see anything but his knees.
"And that the Doctor just happened to have that huge ball of nylon
fishing line in one of his pockets. Although he did tell me earlier to
'never rule out a coincidence'."
"Aye, well he might," the young man agreed, hacking down another
snow-laden pine limb with a wicked looking knife. "His life does seem
t' hold more than its rightful share." Sliding the dagger into his
boot, he jumped down from about six feet up, landing in the soft snow.
"Here now!" he snapped in a sudden flash of realization. His brogue
accent was even thicker with growing irritation. "*Ye've* na been
helpin' th' other ladies lash down the shelters!" Abruptly, he shoved a
load of resin-rich, wet branches into her arms. "Y' can carry these
then."
The reporter flashed her *you obviously must be joking* smile, but
he ignored it and picked up an even bigger armload of pine boughs.
Without another word, he strode back toward the other survivors.
Trying to protect her face from the scratchy needles, Mara hoisted
the bundle up against her chest and felt one of her expensive manicured
nails snap off. The wind snatched away her cry of incensed profanity.
Still snarling in outrage, she stomped after the Scot.
"I can't see!"
Philip whimpered as the snow pellets stung the exposed bits of
frostbitten skin around his squinting eyes. He was cold, he was very
tired and he needed to use a toilet. Badly.
"Be silent, boy!" Miss Touloise was holding her glove almost
against her face as she tried to see her compass. "It's called snow
blindness, Philip, and is perfectly understandable considering the
current blizzard conditions."
"We're lost," the prince sulked. "We're going to die out here
because you got us lost!"
"*That*, young man, is more than enough!" His tutor glared down at
him with a fury he'd never seen before. "If you have nothing helpful to
add, then may I suggest..."
"What's that?" Philip pointed with one gloved hand at a dark smudge
against the whiteness of the swirling snow.
Melinda DeFiorez couldn't keep her attention on just one thing. Her
eyes flicked continually from the ice melting in her drink, to the local
television station's repetitious 'coverage' of the avalanche and
blizzard, to the CNN guy sitting next to her at the bar. The man was on
his cellular phone, apparently giving a live report.
"That's right, Jessica," he was saying. "I'd gone into town for
some supplies and was on my way back to the Lodge when your call came
through." He paused as the anchor apparently asked a question. "Our
reporter, Mara Stanley, was still at the Mountain at the time of the
avalanche. I'm rather worried about her, as I haven't been able to make
contact," he lied easily. "But I wouldn't be surprised if that much
snow hadn't taken out the communication towers for the immediate Puma
Mountain area." Another pause. "Absolutely, Jessica. And while this
is a fast moving storm, the visibility is currently only a few feet and
weather officials are saying they expect it to get worse before morning,
when we should see some clearing. I intend to get back to the Mountain
and bring you an update as soon as I can. This is Peter Evans, CNN
News." He switched off the phone and scooped up his coat.
Melinda laid a hand on his arm as he turned to go. "Are you going
out there alone?" she asked, dark eyes shimmering in the glow cast from
the TV set.
"There, you see? The hut, just as I said." Miss Touloise frowned at
the little blue shack half-buried at an angle in the snow. "It's a
great deal smaller than I expected."
Philip was already on his knees, scooping snow away from the slanted
doorway. "Maybe there's blankets or a heater inside," he insisted,
tugging at the door's handle.
Miss Touloise reached down and *pushed* on the door. It swung
inward, the interior looking dark, cold and slightly foreboding. Then
before she could stop him, the prince had scrambled inside. "Philip!"
"Wow! Look at this!" The boy's excited voice sounded as though he
was far away and in a much bigger space. Probably an effect of the
blizzard conditions, she decided.
With a sharp "huh" of exasperation at his impetuousness, the woman
carefully crossed over the tilted threshold, holding on tightly to the
doorjamb for support. And then she gasped.
The floor of the brightly-lit area inside was flat, not tilted as
she had expected. Philip skipped over to pull her completely inside.
"This is way cooler than anything I could have imagined!" he yammered.
"But it's... it's..."
"Bigger than on the outside!" He laughed and spun away, arms flung
out to indicate the entire room with its circle-embellished walls. "Too
bad it's white. But look at all of these controls."
"Philip!" Miss Touloise managed to squeak, still struggling to get
her wits about her. "You are not to touch anything! Is that
understood?"
The boy hung his head. "Yes, Miss Touloise." But then he dashed
back and grabbed her hand, pulling his tutor toward a domed white
tabletop, its upper surfaces bristling with instrumentation. "But look!
It's just like a James Bond movie, maybe even better!"
The assassin instinctively ducked his head as he mingled with the crowd,
then laughed at his behavior. No one here would have any idea that he
wasn't just another tourist who had somehow managed to survive this
ordeal. And then he corrected himself - there was one person who would
know.
So he wasn't terrible surprised when that person caught his arm and
dragged him aside, into a denser part of the woods. "Just *what* did
you think you were doing?" she hissed.
The man shrugged. "What you asked me to. I set off the charges."
"*I* asked you to set off *one* charge and create an incident, not
bring the whole mountainside down on us!"
He shook his head. "You said to wipe out that boy prince."
"No, I *didn't*," she insisted. "All I said was that if the little
prince were to die in an avalanche," the woman flicked back a wayward
strand of bottle blond hair, "it would make an interesting story and
probably advance my career." She sighed wistfully. "Not that I can
even report it now. You are such a moron."
"Unh-huh," he said dryly. "Think whatever you want of me, baby.
Just remember that now you owe me."
"Oh, then let me pay up!" the woman snapped, sneering up into the
man's stubble-framed face. "David Simmons," she enunciated slowly.
"You'll find that's the name of the person you wanted." She poked one
skinny finger, its nub of red-painted nail tattered and ragged, against
the thick fabric of his coat. "Now, that should conclude any business I
have with you." She turned away, then looked back over her shoulder
with a cold smirk. "Watch yourself. Your ex was at the Lodge with her
newest husband."
"Heidi!" Furious, he grabbed her arm. "You, bit... why didn't you
tell me she was here?"
"I think I just did, *Matthew*." She yanked free of his grasp and
moved smoothly away.
The man stood there, glaring after the woman. After a long moment,
he turned and strode toward the shelters, merging back into the crowd.
Victoria had crouched down in the shadowy underbrush where she had
gone in order to... she blushed. Despite her travels with the Doctor
and Jamie, she still felt deeply embarrassed at the uncivilized
necessity of using the dubious shelter of a bush as a privy. So she'd
waited, watching until she was certain that the arguing couple were both
gone. Then she went to find the Doctor.
After much prodding by the young prince, Miss Touloise had hesitantly
tried a few of the controls. Most had no apparent effect. Perhaps you
had to insert a key or enter a password or... She abruptly stopped that
train of thought, appalled that she was starting to sound like her young
charge. The last switch she operated, however, mercifully closed the
doors, cutting off the biting wind.
"There," she said, turning away from the control station.
Philip tugged at her arm. "But Miss Touloise, we haven't even
tried..."
"My dear young prince." Deftly, the woman shrugged away his
clutching hands. "This is obviously not the skier's hut. Now, perhaps
it's a government installation. Or a weather station of some sort. But
whatever it is, I feel certain that we would not be permitted to just
play with the controls."
"Aw!" Philip kicked at the base of the control station, pouting.
The lights dimmed briefly at the impact and Miss Touloise yanked him
away in alarm. "That is enough of that behavior, young man!" She
pointed at a chair tucked up against the wall. "Now sit!"
"But Miss Touloise," he whined, crossing his legs and squirming. "I
need to use the toilet."
The woman sighed heavily, her eyes flicking between the young prince
and the other uninvestigated door in the room. "Oh, all right, Philip."
With an elated grin, the boy shoved the door open and charged
through.
Another blast of Artic wind roared over the mountains and into the side
of the rental car, threatening to blow it off the road. Peter Evans
wrestled with the steering wheel, getting the vehicle back into the
center of the pavement. The snow swirled in waves across the blacktop
in a mildly hypnotic pattern. Blinking to clear his head, he glanced at
the occupant of the passenger seat.
The pretty brunette woman smiled encouragement at him, her perfect
white teeth flashing against her dark skin. Melinda had said that she
didn't trust driving in this weather, but that she needed to go back to
the Mountain. To check on her husband. To make certain he was all
right.
Peter had been glad of the company and had told her so. As the snow
continued to fall more heavily, he dug his portable police scanner out
of his pocket and thumbed it on, hoping to hear which roads were still
accessible.
"A scanner," the woman said as he tucked the device into the coffee
holder in the dash. They were her first words since they had left the
bar.
"Yeah," he nodded, keeping his eyes on the road. "When you work for
a major network, you use whatever you can to stay at the front of the
pack."
"The pack." She laughed, a low, full-throated sound. "You make the
media sound like a bunch of ravenous wolves."
"Well, aren't we, honey?" He grinned.
"Yes, Mr. Evans." Melinda's voice had taken on a serious, uneasy
tone. "Sometimes we are."
Victoria had traipsed around the ragged circle of pine-topped shelters,
looking in first one, then another and another, but finding only masses
of people clustered together for warmth, wrapped in blankets and mylar
sheets that they had found in the skier's huts. Eventually she found
the Doctor in one of the smaller lean-tos.
Only Jamie and that rather queer songstress, Rayna Morrow, were
inside with him. She put the lack of other occupants down to the fact
that there appeared to be something very wrong with the woman. Rayna
was sweating profusely, despite the cold, her face alternating between
flushed and pale. "Is she ill, Doctor?"
The little man nodded gravely. "I am very much afraid so, Victoria.
She is suffering withdrawal symptoms from cocaine."
From the back of the shelter, Rayna moaned. "I want a boost!"
Victoria frowned at the woman. "Oh surely not, Doctor. Cocaine is
perfectly harmless. Why, my father even used it upon occasion. He said
it helped him think."
"Well, perhaps in the late 1800's cocaine was, shall we say, a more
benign substance." He smiled tightly. "But in this time period, it's
highly refined and extremely dangerous. That's why it's illegal, you
see."
The singer grabbed at the Doctor's coat. "You're a doctor! You can
get me some snow!"
"Come on then, Doctor," Jamie insisted, giving up any attempt at
comprehending the conversation on his own. "What's she babbling about?"
"A white powder," the Doctor explained. "When it's inhaled or
injected into the body, it stimulates, um, stirs up the brain, Jamie.
It makes you feel more energetic and powerful."
"Aye, and what's wrong with that?"
"This." He gestured at the thrashing woman.
"Mei would give me some of hers!" Rayna hissed, digging her fingers
into Jamie's coat sleeve. "Or even Zach. He *likes* us."
Jamie jumped at her unexpectedly strong grip. "Eh?"
"Now this may be something interesting." The Doctor leaned forward,
eyes sparkling intently as he peeled Rayna's fingers away from the young
Scot's arm. "Who exactly is Zach, Miss Morrow?"
"Zach Tarrance, the actor," the woman smirked wantonly. "You know,
Melinda deFiorez' husband. He is *such* a stud, incredibly well-en..."
"Ah, yes." The Doctor clapped a hand over the woman's mouth,
glancing uneasily at his companions. "Um, Jamie," he suggested, "why
don't you and Victoria go and see how everyone is doing? Perhaps make
up a list of names? I'll stay here with Miss Morrow."
Jamie was frowning, apparently still trying to puzzle out the
meaning behind Rayna's words.
"Doctor, wait! I'd nearly forgotten," Victoria sputtered, suddenly
remembering why she had come in the first place. She rapidly recounted
what she had overheard.
"Oh dear, oh dear," the Doctor said, his eyes narrowing into a very
grave guarded expression. "This does change things." Then in almost the
same instant, his face popped back to its familiar pollyannaish
appearance. "Now off with you two," he shoo'ed them out into the snow.
"And do check on Princess Emily and her daughter, if you would. I'm
sure she's terribly worried about her son."
It had taken Philip little time to locate the toilets. He had excitedly
explained that the toilet itself contained no water and that his various
waste products had just seemed to disappear. Miss Touloise had shushed
him, appalled at the unmannerly line of thought. The boy had simply
shrugged at her scolding and then dashed down the unending hallway,
flinging open door after door.
Even taking into account the possibility that the complex was below
ground level or buried under tons of snow, it became apparent to the
tutor that the building was impossible. Taking a right-hand turn might
throw you into a corridor that you'd just vacated on the left. After
the tenth or eleventh impossibility, she had retreated alone to the
single chair in the main chamber with the circular control panel.
Her mind became convinced that she must still be in the little cave,
that they had never actually found the blue shack, and that she was
under the influence of a cold-induced hallucination. She shivered as
though she could feel the thought-numbing frigidity. *If* she and the
young prince somehow survived this ordeal, Miss Touloise fully intended
to tender her resignation to Princess Emily.
Rayna giggled. "His wife is insanely jealous, you know."
The Doctor scooted around to face her. "Zach Tarrance's wife."
"Melinda." The woman said the name in a mocking tone. "And Zach
talks about her *all* the time." She rolled her eyes. "Even in bed!
She apparently has a fiery Latin temper to match her supposed fiery
Latin passion."
"Yes," the Doctor flustered, "while I'm sure this is most
interesting..."
"That's why we did it," she said smugly.
"Did what?"
"Seduced Zach, of course." Rayna's laugh was scornful, and she
looked at him as though she couldn't believe he didn't get it. "It was
fun to watch *Melinda* get all churned up. And when David said he could
meet us here and rig up a hidden mini-camera to record us like he had so
many others..."
The Doctor's eyes grew huge. "David?"
"He has this really cool erotic web site, posted us up on the 'net."
Rayna stretched languidly. "It wasn't as though Zachy wasn't already
sleeping around, but Mei thought it was hilarious that the woman voted
the Academy's most passionate lover on screen should publicly lose her
husband to a couple of avowed lesbians. Didn't you, Mei?" The woman
frowned at the silence and struggled to sit up. "Mei?"
The Doctor caught her shoulders as she suddenly gasped. The full
force of Reality had finally overcome the effects of the drug.
"No!" Rayna flailed at the restraining hands. "Mei!"
"107 to Dispatch."
After several long minutes of static, the scanner had finally kicked
into life. Peter hurriedly flicked down the volume.
"Dispatch. Go 107."
"There has been a small slide on SH 207 south of Nugget. Road is
completely block. Repeat State Highway 207 is completely blocked."
"Copy that. Are *any* of the back roads open to Puma?"
"Negative, Dispatch. Only the Interstate access road is clear
enough to pass."
"10-4. Time at 22:39. Dispatch out."
Peter cursed under his breath at the information and carefully
turned his car around, making certain that he didn't come to a complete
stop on the snowy road. The vehicle was barely inching along, but
better that than getting stuck. He backtracked toward the Interstate.
"179 to 107?" the scanner blurted.
"107."
"There've been reports of damage at the Lodge. Is the file from
this morning's incidents still active?"
There was a brief pause from the officer and then, "Active, but be
advised that this slide may have wiped out any physical evidence."
"Copy. 179 out."
Melinda broke off from staring out the window. The snow had
diminished to a swirl of light flurries. "Incidents at the Lodge?"
Squinting past the ice-encrusted wipers at the snow coated road,
Peter grunted at the question. "A couple of murders. Some Simmons guy
and an artist named May something. I think a cop got killed too."
"Do the police have any idea who did it?"
He shrugged. "Not that they've said. But who knows?"
"Oh." The woman returned to watching the snow fall.
"Uh, Melinda, can I ask you something?" For some reason, Peter
suddenly wanted to fill the silence. "And if I'm out of line, just tell
me to go to hell and I'll shut up." She looked back at him and he
hurriedly said, "Things aren't exactly all sunshine and roses between
you and your husband, are they?"
Melinda smiled, tight-lipped. "Ever the good little reporter, Mr.
Evans."
"Who me? I'm just a cameraman."
The smile grew a little broader. "Well, in that case, let's just
say that Zach hasn't let a little thing like marital fidelity stand in
the way of thoroughly enjoying his new-found fame."
"But that's not all that unusual for someone, um, in your line of
work, is it?" Peter said carefully.
"No." The woman's face took on a colder expression. "And now it's
not much of a secret either. Some Internet tabloid posted the *full
story* of his latest escapade. With video and everything."
Peter winced and whistled softly. "Ouch!"
"Ouch," she agreed, turning once more to the window.
Rayna's wailing and moaning continued as the Doctor did his best to
quiet her, shushing and patting the woman's back. Inspector Slonosky
popped his head into the shelter.
"Everything okay in here?"
"Not exactly. I'm afraid Miss Morrow has finally become aware that
Mei Sukahara is, in fact, dead," the Doctor told him.
"Well, I'm sure those drugs she's been taking prevented that for
awhile." Slonosky met the Doctor's astonished gaze and laughed. "You
thought I couldn't tell? Half the people at the Lodge are stoned to
some degree, Doctor. But if I arrested everybody who *indulged*, the
Lodge would have no clientele, and I'd have no job."
"Ah, yes, you do have a point," the Doctor admitted, raising his
voice slightly over Rayna's sobs. "Uh, Inspector," he continued
hurriedly as the man turned to leave, "if you could spare a moment, I'd
like to discuss the avalanche and our murder cases."
"*Our* murder cases," Slonosky fumed. "Look, Doctor, you are still
a bit confused about..."
The little man cut off his words. "Some new evidence has been
brought to my attention."
"Oh?" With a quick glance at the entrance, the Inspector sat down
on the ground. "Well, then do tell, Doctor."
Peter cautiously brought the car to a slippery halt as a police officer
waved him to the side of the road. Rolling down the window, he flashed
a charming smile as he dug out his press badge. "Good evening, ma'am.
Peter Evans with CNN News."
"Yes, sir." The woman, Colorado State Patrol according to the
insignia on her jacket, glanced at his identification. "You can join
the rest of the media over there." She pointed to a circle of cars and
vans assembled on a wide, mostly clear spot at the base of the exit
ramp. Someone had brought in portable heaters and he could smell coffee
and fresh donuts.
"I've got to get to the Lodge, Officer." He turned up the charm a
notch. "One of my co-workers is still there. I'm worried."
The woman wasn't buying any of it. "Everything is being done to
clear the road as quickly as possible, sir," she told him. "Now if
you'll just move your car."
"You bet I will, lady," Peter retorted under his breath. But more
loudly he said, "Yes, ma'am. Whatever I can do to help."
Making sure he parked the car on a freshly plowed section of the
road, Peter hopped out to help Melinda deFiorez over to the Press
caravan. Not normally the gentleman, he knew how to play the role when
necessary. And for his scheme to succeed, he would need Melinda as a
distraction.
Philip had tired of his explorations and was trudging back up the
corridors, trying to find his way to the main control room. His stomach
rumbled loudly and the boy slumped against the wall.
"Oh, what I wouldn't give for a cup of hot cocoa!" he lamented,
rubbing his midsection. There was a soft sound by his head and he
looked up.
One of the circular panels had opened up to reveal a
delicious-smelling mug of thick brown liquid. Philip frowned.
"What?" he addressed the ceiling, loftily. "No whipped cream or
sprinkles?"
The panel abruptly snapped back shut.
"No, wait! I was joking!" He beat a fist in frustration against
the wall. "It was so cold outside and this is such a fantastic place.
Please, can't I have the cocoa?" His words brought no response. "I
promise I'll give some to Miss Touloise."
The wall opened again, to reveal two mugs of steaming chocolate.
With whipped cream and sprinkles.
Several hours had passed since he had been sidelined with the rest of
the media and Peter was carefully biding his time, making sure his
passenger had a space in front of the heater and plenty of coffee. She
had refused any donuts, claiming that she was on a "hi-pro/lo-carb"
diet. He was choking down yet another cup of the thin, tasteless
coffee, when someone finally recognized the actress. Leaving Melinda to
fend off *the wolves* on her own, he dashed back toward the road.
Making sure the lady cop's attention was elsewhere, he quietly
opened the door and slid into his car. The rental's badly-tuned engine
rattled loudly as it turned over. Wincing at the noise, Peter urged the
vehicle with almost painful slowness up to the *head-rushing* speed of
35 miles-per-hour, the thin layer of snow on the recently scraped
blacktop crunching under his wheels.
He had watched as dump trucks had moved back and forth along the
access road throughout the night, carting off literally a mountain's
worth of snow. The section he was driving along now was mostly clear.
Any remaining patches of snow were packed and sanded, but not terribly
icy. Your tax dollars at work, Colorado! he thought.
Rounding a curve, he had to wrench the wheel sharply to avoid
rear-ending a huge snow blower. The sudden direction-change was too
fast and his vehicle skidded on the snow pack, bouncing off the banks
that had been shoved up onto the roadway's shoulder.
The blower's dual whirling blades churned into the immense snowdrift
that blocked the road, spitting a white arch of powder into a waiting
truck's boxy bed, and in the process curtaining the area in man-made
flurries. Cursing, Peter backed out of the mini-blizzard and managed to
turn the rental completely around.
A patrol car, siren off, but lights flashing, was blocking his way.
Peter cursed again and leaned his head against the steering wheel.
God, but he hated these kinds of days!
Jamie poked his head into the little hut where he'd left the Doctor.
"So you know this Matthew fellow then?" the Doctor was saying.
"Oh, yeah!" The Lodge security chief was seated beside him,
nodding. "Matt Czubick. His ex-wife is a guest here with her new
husband. We were alerted to the fact that she had had a restraining
order issued keeping this guy at least 500 yards away from her at all
times."
"And David Simmons?"
Slonosky shrugged, consulting his palmtop. "Not much on him. Some
kind of computer guru. Recently started up his own ISP."
"Hardly seems reason enough to kill someone, does it?" The Doctor
sighed. "Well, perhaps I should get started on that little device we
discussed?"
Slonosky dug in his coat pocket and handed two small black objects
over to the Doctor. Then he frowned and slowly reached again inside his
coat. A web of something silvery and shiny emerged as he withdrew his
hand, tinkling faintly.
"Ah, thank you," the Doctor beamed. "That's just the thing! Now,
if you'll give me a few minutes to put this together..." His words
trailed off as he turned his attention to the pile of equipment in his
lap.
Edging to one side, Jamie made room for the chief to leave, then
crawled inside. The woman Rayna was sleeping fitfully at the back of
the hut, and for briefest moment, the Scotsman wondered what the Doctor
had done to calm her down. But he had other matters to attend to, and
pushed the thought away.
"Here, Doctor," he held out a stack of carefully inscribed notebook
pages. "Victoria wrote down the names of everyone who's here."
"She's a very good girl," he said absently, flipping rapidly through
the sheets. Then he paused. "Oh dear, oh my!"
"Doctor?"
"Several rather significant names seem to be missing from this
list." Scowling, the Doctor suddenly folded the papers and stuffed them
into a pocket. "Perhaps it'd be best to just keep this between you and
I." And he tapped the side of his nose.
"Eh?"
He leaned forward, conspiratorially. "Let's not tell anyone what
we've just read, shall we?"
"Read?" Jamie frowned at the man, baffled. "Doctor, it'd take me a
good day t' read those papers. M'be longer."
"Oh, yes, how very silly of me," the Doctor nodded, patting the
young man's shoulder. "That's all right then." Then scooping up his
pile of objects, he backed out of the hut, leaving Jamie with the
sleeping Miss Morrow and still frowning in confusion.
The snow had diminished to periods of intermittent flurries. Hunched in
the back of the patrol car with his photographic gear, Peter Evans
watched ruefully as the slightly battered rental car was towed away. A
mesh screen separated the front and back seat, and a radio on the other,
law-abiding, side of the screen hissed and spat loudly, broken only by
tersely worded communication between the various units. An officer
opened the door and slid behind the wheel. He glanced at the cameraman.
"I hope you're comfortable back there," he said in the clipped
practiced tone of law enforcement officers everywhere. "We can't spare
anyone to take you into town at the moment."
Peter waved a hand dismissively. "Great. Fabulous" he muttered
sarcastically. "The Ritz Carlton was never better."
"Yes, sir." The officer turned back to the radio as a staticky,
broken message emerged from the tiny speaker. "...tor Slonosky...
uma... ntain Security... 197 peop... advised th..." The signal fell
apart, but grew stronger as the man fiddled with the gain and volume.
"poten... urder suspect... inda deFiorez... ark brown eye..."
"Melinda DeFiorez!" Peter sat up abruptly, ignoring the rest of the
transmission.
"You know her?" The officer was looking back at him again.
"No, I don't." Peter met the man's eyes levelly. "But I ran into
her tonight at a bar in town and was giving her a ride to the Lodge."
"The woman who came in with you?"
Peter nodded. The officer got out of the car and raced across the
snowy ground toward the Press area. The radio crackled and the message
from Puma Mountain began to repeat again.
Left alone again in the car, the cameraman exhaled, long and low,
and slouched down in the seat. His hands were shaking, and it wasn't
from the cold.
"Damn!"
"Well, that's the third time. Do you think they even got it?" Slonosky
studied the makeshift device the Doctor had built from his cell phone,
pager and an intricate daisy-chain of paper clips that had mysteriously
turned up in the Inspector's inside pocket.
The little man was crouched in the snow, peering at his construct
almost lovingly. "Well, it is a bit of a lash-up, and I'm not
absolutely certain about the satellite's position, but yes, if anyone is
listening, then yes, I'd say they must have received it."
"You don't have any more idea than I do, do you?"
"Um, well..." The Doctor looked up, abashed. "Not really, no."
"That's what I thought. Still, got to put on the appropriate show."
Slonosky had turned to stare at the cluster of lean-to's.
The Doctor smiled, following his gaze. "Yes, we do. Now, about our
two suspects..."
"Am I gonna confront them?" The Inspector glanced back. "I don't
want to raise their suspicions, Doctor. And it's not like they're going
anywhere."
"Good, good." The Doctor rubbed his hands together, eyes twinkling
in the growing light. "Because you see, I had this idea."
Miss Touloise was curled up in the chair, her legs tucked up under her
and her eyes shut.
"Uh, Miss Touloise?" Philip had returned from his explorations of
the cave.
"Please," the woman said tersely, "I'm trying to conserve my energy
until we are rescued. You should do the same, Philip."
"Okay." The boy moved closer and a wonderful scent filled her
nostrils. "But I thought you might like some hot cocoa."
Just for a moment, she nearly opened her eyes. But then she
remembered her earlier delusions, and instead snapped, "Don't talk such
nonsense, young man!"
She heard him step back as though she had hurt his feelings.
Chastening herself inwardly for her rudeness to the boy, she did open
her eyes. Her hallucinations of the white round-paneled room continued.
Philip stood before her, coatless and sulking, a ceramic mug cupped
in his hands. "Well, if you don't want to drink it, can I?"
A shadow fell across the window opposite and Peter opened his eyes in
time to see the officer *helping* a handcuffed Melinda deFiorez into the
back of his car.
"Hey," he said chattily, shoving his scattered photo gear into a bag
and scooping it out of her way. "Finally broke away from your adoring
public?"
Her dark eyes glittered angrily. "No thanks to you, yes."
"Sorry about that, honey." He smiled crookedly at her. "But I had
to get up the mountain. Not that my little attempt did me any good; I
got arrested."
"Seems to be the night for it." She shifted around to watch the
impending dawn out the car's window.
He reached into his equipment bag, rummaging around. "All of this
is just crazy."
She shrugged. "When one is among wolves, Mr. Evans, one does what
one must."
Peter whistled softly. "Are you saying you did it then? Murdered
David Simmons and that other woman?"
Melinda laughed without humor. "Until I talk to my lawyer, I'm not
saying anything to anyone. Especially not someone who works for CNN."
"Ah, come on, Melinda," he coaxed. "What's a little sound bite
among friends?"
She turned to look at him directly. "I wasn't aware that we were
friends, Mr. Evans." Her chilly gaze melted slightly as Melinda seemed
to consider for a moment, then she said softly, "Do you get on the
Internet often, Mr. Evans?"
"Sure, all the time." Peter shrugged with one shoulder. "E-mail.
Research. Chat rooms. You name it."
"Porn pages?"
For some reason, Peter felt his face glowing red-hot. "Uh, yeah.
Once or twice, I guess. But why not? I'm a healthy, red-blooded
Amer..."
"It's funny, really. I've made my living selling an image of
*smoldering mystique and searing sexuality*." The woman shook her head
at the marketing tag. "The next time you're on the Web, do a search and
check out David Simmons' dot-com site. And you decide if he deserved to
die."
"Uh, right." Peter rummaged around once more in the bag and pulled
out a hand-held camera. "Now, about that sound bite?" He smiled and
raised an eyebrow hopefully.
"Of course." Melinda straightened her sweater over her curves and
an amazing transformation occurred. She had been extremely pretty
before, but now... Peter felt his heart stutter as it started pumping
his all-American red blood a little more rapidly.
Lasciviously, the woman swept sensuous fingers through hair that
suddenly looked bedroom-tousled. She licked a glistening pink tongue
over full red lips and smiled into the camera with a sultry expression.
"This is for you, Peter Evans of CNN News," she murmured invitingly, her
dark eyes half-lidded. Pursing her sensual lips, she blew a long, slow
kiss at him.
And then, abruptly, she turned her back and resumed staring out her
window at the developing day.
A figure stood on the summit face, leaning defiantly into the blustery
airstream. It tugged at the figure's coat, defining a woman's outline.
Wisps of long hair trailed out, carried in the pull of the wind.
"At last, a signal! Now if I can just get... Yes! Rex, this is
Mara Stanley! Listen, I'm on top of Puma Mountain and I..." Pause.
"What? You let that imbecile Evans broadcast! How could you... well, of
course I couldn't... I haven't been able to get a line! Fine. It's
your show." Pause. "Naturally I'm ready. I've got page after page...
oh, all right. But this battery is low and..."
Then, like a light switch had been thrown, Mara shifted into her
*on-air* personality. "This is Mara Stanley reporting from Puma
Mountain, one of only a couple hundred survivors from the resort who
managed to make it to the top of the ski lift before the avalanche
buried the entire main Lodge and all out-lying buildings and cabins. We
were able to construct shelters and survive the bitter winds and
unbelievable snows from last night. The blizzard has nearly stopped at
this point and as far as we can tell in the early morning's light, the
clouds seem to be breaking up, so we expect help to arrive at any time."
A brief pause, and then, "Yes, Rex. As Peter, my *cameraman*",
Mara's emphasis on the man's lowly status was obvious, "reported
earlier, he was in town at the time of the disaster. I've had no word
from him yet." Another pause. "Absolutely, Rex. And as long as this
phone's battery holds out, I'll be reporting in with regular updates.
This is Mara Stanley. CNN News."
Then even before she had disconnected the call, Mara snapped off her
professional mien and resumed her usual scoffing appearance.
"Bunch of incompetent idiots!" she muttered, turning back toward the
woods.
Static.
A sharp crackle. "This is Inspector Slonosky of Puma Mountain
Security. Can anyone hear me?" Then more dead-air static.
The Ops Officer stumbled around the table, nearly dropping his
coffee as he struggled to reach the radio. "Puma Mountain," he
sputtered into the handset. "This is Patrol Base Delta. Do you copy?"
"Copy. Uh, Ben, is that you?"
"It's me, Keith. Real glad to hear you made it."
"Me, too. Hold on a moment, would you?" There was the sound of
someone fumbling the microphone, and then a new voice, with some sort of
British accent, came on.
"Hello, this is... Doctor," the voice said, counter-pointed with
thick static. "I hope... can... what's that?" The static ended
abruptly. "Oh! Well, you can't expect me to know that!" The Doctor's
voice had receded, as though he had moved away from the mouthpiece.
"I'm not used to working with such primitive... Yes, of course I built
it, but... Ah, you may have a point there." There was a brief pause.
"Hello again. Are you still there?"
The Ops Officer shook his head and spoke into the microphone. "Yes,
sir, I'm still here. Now, how can we help you?"
"Well, um, Benjamin, wasn't it?" the Doctor asked. "Well, Benjamin,
if you could perhaps air-drop some warmer clothing or blankets for us,"
he suggested, "and maybe something hot to drink. Soup or coffee or tea
would be ideal. That really would be most helpful, until you can
actually send someone to get us."
"A National Guard helicopter is on its way, sir," Ben told him.
"They will be dropping supplies on the southern face of the mountain
within the hour. Do you have any casualties?"
"Mostly frostbite and a bit of hypothermia, thank goodness." The
Doctor paused for a moment. "Although we do have a young woman who is
suffering symptoms of cocaine withdrawal. It might be best to air-lift
her out."
"That's a no-go, Doctor. The down draft from the trailing edge of
the storm is still too strong to land a 'copter."
"Ah, well." The Doctor sighed. "We don't want to run the risk of
any further calamity. And while the young lady will be very
uncomfortable, I suppose she's in no immediate danger."
"I'll pass that information on to medical personnel," Ben told him.
"Now, if there's nothing else, sir?"
"Well, there is one tiny little thing, Benjamin." The officer could
almost see the man holding his fingers up, an inch apart. "We very much
need to make contact with a Mr. Peter Evans. I believe he's a
cameraman of some..."
"We have him."
"Do you? How very convenient! Yes, now if you could make
arrangements for him to be brought to the mountain."
"Mr. Evans is under arrest, sir."
"Really?" The Doctor sounded like he was pouting. "Well, it's ever
so important that he come up here." There was the noise of the radio
being fumbled again.
"Listen, Delta Base." Inspector Slonosky had returned. "Ben, I
don't want to tread on your jurisdiction, but this involves possible
murder."
"Based on your earlier request," Ben told him, "we have taken Miss
deFiorez into custody."
"Great!" Slonosky shouted. "Hold on to her! But we'll need Evans
up here to help us capture the parties that set off the avalanche."
"I see." The officer stared into his coffee, considering. Then he
sighed deeply. "The things I do for you, Keith."
"Hey, what can I say, Ben? Just put it on my tab with the rest of
the favors I owe you."
An echoing *thwack-thwack-thwack* punctuated the air overhead as a
dark-colored helicopter swooped down to land on the flat staging area at
the top of the ski lift.
"Yes, Rex." Mara had to yell into the mouthpiece of her cell phone
to be heard over the noise. "As you can hear, the first of the rescue
helicopters is just arriving here at Puma Mountain. There are several
people with minor cases of exposure, but all of us have survived this
catastrophe with amazing few..." A harsh beep sounded loudly in her ear
and she pulled the phone away to glance at the faceplate. The little
*battery* symbol showed no charge.
"Rex, I'm sorry, but this battery is nearly spent. This is Mara
Stanley..." There was another beep and the phone abruptly shut down.
"...with CNN News," she finished lamely, snapping the phone's cover shut
with a snarl and shoving it into her coat pocket.
The helicopter's blades had swirled the new snow into flurries and
Mara had to squint to make out the activity around the vehicle.
Inspector Slonosky was in some kind of conference with a couple of
National Guardsmen and that little man who called himself *Doctor* was
busily directing medical personnel toward the clearing and their
shelters. Then she blinked. Just emerging from the whirling snow was
her cameraman, gear strapped to his back.
"Peter!" she bellowed over the whirling blades' noise, waving her
arm. "Over here!" He saw her, but stopped instead to chat with the
Inspector. Seething, Mara started forward, prepared to give him a piece
of her mind.
"Hey, Mara." Evans smirked as she approached, his eyes glinting
oddly.
She was instantly reminded that he had had the gall to file *their*
report in her absence and glared at the man. Oh, was he asking for it!
"Inspector Slonosky just told me he's got a few minutes for an
interview," Evans said, pulling his camera out of the bag. "And CNN
will break in for a live feed. If you're up to it, that is."
Mara turned on her professional smile. "That's very kind of you,
Inspector," she told him, taking the microphone from Evans as he talked
though the last details with the broadcast center. "I know this
experience has been trying for us all." She turned her attention to the
cameraman. "How do I look?"
Evans raised an appraising eyebrow. "You have looked better,
honey." He grinned at Mara's shocked expression. "Hey, you can always
play it up: the cost of surviving this terrible ordeal. And we're on in
three-two..."
She threw a nasty look at him, then snapped her face back into its
*on-air* expression as he said "one". "This is Mara Stanley," she
enunciated into the camera, "broadcasting from Puma Mountain. With me
is Inspector Slonosky, Chief of Security at the Lodge." She turned
toward the man, noticing that despite his unshaven, salt-and-pepper
appearance, the man looked rugged, sure and completely in control of the
situation. "Um, Inspector, this has been a terrible ordeal," she winced
inwardly as she realized she was using Evans' phrase, "This catastrophe
has been simply awful for everyone involved. Can you fill us in on how
you were able to get everyone through this?"
The Inspector began to drone on about shelters and pulling together
and other nonsense. Mara noticed that the Doctor and the two Guardsmen
had just emerged from the woods with another man.
"Miss Stanley?" Slonosky was looking at her with an odd expression
and she realized he must have asked her something.
"I apologize, Inspector. The stress of all of this must be catching
up with me," she said glibly.
"I'm not surprised," he said. "And I was talking about the
avalanche."
"Absolutely terrible," Mara steered the conversation. "The last
reports I saw showed that there was a dangerous amount of snow on the
mountains, even before the blizzard came."
"Dangerous? Well, possibly," he agreed. "But that's why the Park
Service has been blasting all week."
This was too easy, Mara thought. "Obviously, they didn't finish in
time."
"The mountain had been closed to skiers, Miss Stanley," the man
noted.
"But in your opinion, Inspector," she pressed, "shouldn't they have
evacuated the Lodge before this tragedy occurred?"
"You make it sound like the avalanche was an act of nature."
"Are you saying it wasn't?" She glanced into the camera in feigned
surprise, drawing the audience in.
"Are you, Miss Stanley?" For some reason, Slonosky was staring
beyond the camera, watching the approach of the Doctor. Mara noted that
the Guardsmen were escorting the fourth man, his wrists handcuffed in
front of him. With a start, she recognized Matthew Czubick.
The Doctor stepped in front of the camera, blocking Mara from the
shot. "Here you are, Inspector," he said solemnly. "This is the man you
were looking for."
"Mr. Czubick," Slonosky intoned, "you are under arrest for setting
off the charges that caused this avalanche."
Czubick wasn't paying any attention to the Inspector. Instead, he
glared at Mara. "You cold-hearted back-stabbing..." he snarled
suddenly, lunging at her. "This whole thing was your idea and now
you're gonna broadcast it too? You're no better than that Simmons guy!"
Mara squeaked in fear, stumbling backward before the Guardsmen could
grab Czubick and haul him away from her.
"Miss Stanley was your accomplice," Slonosky said matter-of-factly.
"Accomplice!" he retorted. "She made me do it! Just to boost her
ratings. I needed information and she wouldn't tell me unless I set off
the charges! She even wanted that boy who's lost up there to die, so
she'd have more of a story."
One of the Guardsmen moved forward to grasp Mara's arm. "No!" she
yelped as Slonosky cuffed her. "You can't possibly believe him!"
"Miss Stanley," the Doctor said gently, "we do have a witness who
overheard you speaking with Mr. Czubick about your part in this."
"Who?" she snapped before she could bite back the word. Then she
smiled. "I'm a reporter, gentlemen. Naturally I would be..."
"Oh, just give it up, Mara." Peter's voice came from behind the
still-running camera. "I've got you on tape, twice, talking to our
guitar-playing friend here." He waved his voice-activated tape recorder
at her. "Though I thought you were just venting. Never occurred to me
that you'd be desperate or stupid enough to actually go through with
this idea."
"You recorded me?" she roared. "You smarmy little... How dare
you..."
"And honestly, as a reporter, Mara, you suck!" Peter taunted. "You
always scoffed at all the extra equipment I carry around. But *I* got
the scoop on Melinda deFiorez and her part in the Simmons and Sukahara
murders, not you!" Mara looked like she was going to blow a gasket and
he grinned. "Now, honey, ain't modern technology great?"
"Ain't it though," Slonosky said as he plucked the device from the
man's fingers. "Evidence, Mr. Evans," he told the protesting
cameraman. "You'll get it back after the trials. And now," he turned
toward Mara and Czubick, "you have the right to remain silent. Anything
you say, can and will be used against you..."
Peter shrugged in resignation. Steadying the camera as he focused
on the unfolding scene, he suddenly grinned. "Well, I gotta admit," he
whispered to the Doctor, "this certainly ought to boost her ratings."
"But we *can't* just leave, Doctor." Victoria had to struggle to match
the pace that the Doctor and Jamie were setting, despite treading in the
trail they had broken through the heavy snow. "Surely, there are people
to be rescued."
"*If* anyone managed to somehow survive in the valley," the Doctor
told her, "the authorities are much better equipped to find them than we
are." He reached out to take her arm as she stumbled. "No, Victoria,
we've done our part. Now it's time to find the TARDIS and leave."
"D'ya know where it is then, Doctor?" Jamie wondered, peering out at
the stark white landscape around them.
"Know where it is!" the Doctor sputtered. "Of course I know where
the TARDIS is!" And he stalked indignantly up the mountainside.
Victoria leaned toward Jamie and whispered, "He really hasn't the
first idea."
The Scot grinned. "Aye."
But surprisingly, he did. After only fifteen minutes of trekking
through the drifts, they stood in front of the familiar battered wooden
box.
"The door's unlocked," Victoria noted.
The Doctor stood with the key in his hand, abashed. "Apparently in
the confusion over the late Mr. Simmons, I must have forgotten to lock
it." He pushed on the door and waved them in. "Still, no harm d..."
His thought died in mid-sentence at the sight in front of him.
A young boy sat cross-legged on the floor of the console room, chin
in his hands and a scattering of empty mugs arrayed around him. In the
chair near him, an older woman slept, her parka pulled tight around her.
"I think my stomach's sick," the boy whimpered.
"Oh, you poor dear." Victoria knelt by the boy, feeling his
forehead. His temperature seemed normal. "Just how many of those did
you drink?" she asked.
"I was thirsty," he sulked. "Besides, Mother said hot cocoa was the
very best thing on a cold day."
"Your mother was absolutely right," the Doctor agreed, sticking out
his hand to the child. "How do you do? I'm the Doctor. This is
Victoria. And that fellow over there is Jamie. Now, who might you be?"
"*I'm* Prince Philip," the boy said haughtily, shaking hands. "And
this is my tuto... um, my *servant*, Miss Touloise."
"Delighted to make your acquaintance, both of you," the Doctor told
him. "And I am glad you took shelter in my TARDIS." He waved a hand at
the room.
"This is yours?" Philip's voice had taken on a note of awe. "Are
you like James Bond?"
"Yes, it is," the Doctor smiled and leaned closer. "And just
between you and I, James Bond doesn't get into or out of nearly as much
trouble as I do." And he winked.
The boy winked back, then suddenly frowned. "I think I want my
mother now."
"Of course you do, Philip." The Doctor gently patted his shoulder.
"Victoria, I think it would be best if you and Jamie stayed here. It'll
only take me a moment to guide the prince and his tutor to the skier's
hut. The rescue party should be along for them shortly."
"We thought this was the skier's hut," the prince told him.
"Yes, well, perhaps the TARDIS could look a little like that," the
Doctor mused. "From the outside." He looked again at the sleeping
woman. "Now, why don't we just wake Miss Touloise here?"
Philip scowled miserably. "*She* thinks were still out in the snow.
In an ice cave."
"Oh dear, does she?"
"And nobody's going to believe *me* about this place," he pouted.
"They never do. They'll think that we were really out in the cold all
night, and I just made all this up."
"I'm afraid you may be right," the Doctor said sadly. "But adults
are just like that sometimes. Perhaps Miss Touloise needs a holiday to
recover."
"Oh, that's silly," Philip retorted. "We're already on holiday."
Then he peered at the little man closely. "Are you ever like that?"
The Doctor smiled. "I try not to be." He stood up, considering.
"Perhaps under the circumstances, Philip, it would be best if you woke
Miss Touloise."
The boy shrugged. "I guess." He tugged at the woman's arm. "Wake
up!"
Miss Touloise frowned, her eyes still shut. "Philip! That is
exceedingly rude, young man!"
"But someone's come in," he protested.
Her eyes popped open. "Thank goodness!" she said, sliding upright
in the chair. Taking the hand that the Doctor offered to her, the woman
stood up.
She glanced at Philip. "Oh my, where is your coat? You must be
freezing, your highness." She scooped the garment from the floor and
began fussing over the boy. "I do apologize," she said to the Doctor.
"I... I must have dozed off. It was very foolish of me, leaving the
prince in danger like that."
"It's quite all right," the Doctor said, patting her hand. "You're
safe now. Let's just get you out of here."
And he led them both toward the TARDIS' door.
Peter Evans dragged his bag across the backseat and stepped out of the
patrol car.
As a reward for his part in bringing Mara Stanley to justice, the
Colorado authorities had dropped all charges against him. And while he
had lost all of his luggage in the avalanche, his photographic equipment
was intact, so he couldn't have cared less. After all, that's what
expense accounts were for. Shrugging his heavy bag onto his shoulders,
he watched as the car sped off, leaving him at the bus terminal.
All around him, sidewalks were being shoveled and stores were
opening as people resumed their busy lives. The snowstorm was over, the
murderers had all been arrested, the boy prince had been found, and most
importantly, the roads were nearly cleared. For the average citizen,
now that the crisis was over, it was just another day.
With a sly grin, he patted the chest of his leather coat, feeling
the comforting bulge of the duplicate cassette in his inside zippered
pocket. Slonosky might have his original tape, but Peter still had his
scoop and a probable guarantee of that transfer he wanted. Hoisting the
bag's weight, he stepped through the automatic doors and moved toward
the ticket counter.
Back to the Sandminer
