Chapter Eight

Captain Scarlet stood on one side of the door, and Colonel White on the other. They nodded to each other, and the Colonel punched in the override code on the keypad beside the door. It slid open noiselessly.

The room appeared to be empty. Then Plato emerged from one of the cupboards. A Mysteron gun was strapped to him.

"Stalemate," he said with a nasty grin.

He lifted his right hand, which held an ordinary pistol, and fired twice. The first bullet hit the Colonel in the leg. The second hit the alarm. The evacuation alarm.

CS

Sandra was jerked out of her troubled dreams by the sound of the evacuation alarm. She leapt out of bed, then suddenly remembered where she was. She was in a cell, and as a result wouldn't be able to get out. As if reading her mind, the door sprung open. Of course, she thought, relaxing slightly. They'd have to get everybody out, criminals and all. That brought a scowl to her face. She was not a criminal.

There was virtually no one in the cellblock, so she encountered nobody. Once she reached the main corridor, however, she shrank back, not wanting to be seen by the Spectrum personnel dashing about. Seizing the first opportunity, she ran over to the weapons room and pulled a Mysteron gun from the rack. She knew exactly what Mark was, had guessed when the Colonel and Paul had visited her in her cell. She snapped the catches into place, and made her way to the second level.

CS

Now disarmed, Paul was crouched next to the Colonel. Both had been forced into Plato's bathroom, and the Mysteron himself was standing in the doorway, gloating.

"We will invoke the fine," said Plato in a falsely eerie voice. "So obvious now, isn't it, Earth men?" He raised the Mysteron gun a little higher. "This'll work on both of you. And now I've got the plans for it, too. Something else I "borrowed from the library."" He smiled a thin, malicious smile that oozed satisfaction. "You attacked our complex, when all we wished to do was extend the hand of friendship."

"Captain Black was always known to be more of a "shoot first, ask later" agent," croaked the Colonel. "I assure you, if he'd known-"

"It's too late, Earth man.

"You're so easy to mimic, so easy to fool. Sandra was absolutely besotted with me, it was easy to manipulate her. Hypnotising her so she'd faint every time one of you mentioned that crash of hers. Hiding the documents under her bed during one of our midnight meetings. The crash itself; it worked like a dream."

Paul snarled, and started forward, but a hand on his arm stopped him. "Don't, Paul," said the Colonel quietly. "It's not over yet."

"Of course it is, Earth man," snapped Plato with contempt. "There's no hope." He paused. "You have no idea how much I love indulging in these human clichés of yours." He burst out laughing.

Then, suddenly, the laughter stopped. Still with the horrible grin on his face, Plato fell backwards. Sandra stood behind him, a Mysteron gun over her uniform, an expression of pure hatred on her face. She swayed slightly. Paul leapt forward to catch her as she keeled over.

CS

"How is she?"

Captain Blue's question shook Paul out of his reverie. He'd been staring out of the windows of his rooms, watching the hypnotic swirling of the clouds outside. He grimaced sadly.

"She could be better."

Sandra had been taken to a private wing of the sickbay, and only Paul was allowed to visit her at the moment. As a result, he was being pestered continually for updates from his colleagues, the Angels in particular. He sat in a chair beside the window and gestured for Adam to do the same.

"I don't think she wants to get better. She really did love Mark, and all the time he was a fake."

"She never really knew him," Adam pointed out. Paul sighed.

"I know that, and she does too. Which is really part of the problem. She's in mourning but she's not; she's been betrayed, but she hasn't; she's a murderer but she's not."

"Difficult," agreed Adam.

CS

Sandra had never known a ceiling to look so… interesting.

She'd got to know it very well in-between visits from Paul, Doctor Fawn and, on one occasion, some expert in hypnosis who'd found a way to cancel out the effects of someone mentioning her crash to her. Otherwise, she'd been left alone.

It wasn't as if she'd been left there with nothing to do. On the contrary, she had a TV, several DVDs, letters, cards and enough books to last her a lifetime. Paul came to see her every day.

But she didn't want to do anything. She couldn't settle to anything. All she could do was lie in the bed and stare up at the ceiling blankly. The only sign that she was alive was the rise and fall of her chest, the occasional blink, and the solitary tears that sometimes tracked down her cheeks when she was alone.

She heard the door open, and waited for whoever it was to come into her range of vision. But they didn't. Paul would be straight over to her side, planting a small kiss on her cheek, saying the most mundane things in an attempt to make her smile. Doctor Fawn would appear at the bottom of her bed, holding a clipboard, asking a few questions. This wasn't Doctor Fawn or Paul. Eventually, curiosity got the better of her, and she looked round.

A young captain in a pinkish uniform stood uncertainly at the door. She recognised him vaguely; she'd seen him a few times in the canteen with Paul.

"Hi," he said nervously. "I'm Captain Magenta."

"What's your real name?" Sandra was surprised at how hoarse her voice sounded.

"Patrick Donaghue." He took a step forward, his cap in his hands. "I can go, if you want."

"No, stay," said Sandra, heaving herself up a little so she was sitting. "I've only had Paul and the doctor to talk to. Speaking of which, how did you get in here?" Patrick looked rather sheepish.

"I sneaked in," he admitted. A small smile tugged at her lips.

"All to see little old me?" she asked with a hint of humour in her voice. He chuckled at that.

"Sort of, yeah. You won't tell?" he asked, suddenly anxious.

"Nah. I appreciate the company."

"Good," he said, obviously relieved. "I thought you wouldn't want to see anyone, since only Paul was allowed to see you."

"I didn't," she admitted, "mainly 'cos I wasn't sure what to say. I guess I was worried about the questions they'd ask me. But now that you've come to see me, I think I might actually want to have visitors. I want to start having a life again now I've had my sulk." He nodded.

"I know what you mean. I've been holing myself up in my rooms since I saw you and-" he broke off, blushing.

"What?"

"I…" he looked away, clearly embarrassed. "To be honest, I was jealous."

"Jealous?"

"Yeah." Patrick swallowed and cleared his throat. "You see, I kinda fancied you myself, and then I saw that Secretary Plato- I mean, his double- had beaten me to it, and… well…" Sandra smiled.

"Are you asking me out?" she said teasingly.

"Might be," he replied slyly, though his cheeks were growing redder than Paul's uniform. Sandra pretended to think about it.

"Because if you are, I think I'd accept."

"Then I'd ask you if you'd want to go with me to visit my hometown next time we're on leave."

"Sounds like a plan," smiled Sandra.

CS

Paul wasn't sure what he was expecting when he went to visit Sandra that night. Maybe more staring at the ceiling. But not smiling. And definitely not her asking to see more people now.

"What's brought this on?"

She grinned. "Captain Magenta sneaked in to visit me. I discovered that all I need is to see other people now. Not that I don't like seeing you," she added, "but I want to see the others. I want to get out and about. I'm fed up with lying in this bed all day, moping."

"That can be arranged." Paul stood up. "I'm going to talk to Doctor Fawn. While I'm doing that, get your clothes on and I'll take you up to the lounge."

"Thanks," she said, hugging him tightly.