CHAPTER ONE

ORDERS ARE BLOODY MAD

Major Klaus Heinz von dem Eberbach had been ordered to his Chief’s office for a briefing. Not an unusual occurrence. Nor was the fact that his assignment was secret in nature. He was, after all, a NATO intelligence officer. But this assignment was…was…

“Major?” the Chief said tentatively. “Do you have any questions?”

The Major did not reply. He sat staring into space, not quite believing what he had just been told. He went over the briefing in his head several times, coming up with the same, unbelievable conclusion. Fly to London, pick up a prisoner, take said prisoner to Moscow and hand him over to the KGB.

But not just anywhere in Moscow.

In KGB Headquarters in Moscow.

Finally, the Major turned his disbelieving gaze to the Chief. “You’re sending me to the Lubyanka?”

“I’m sure it might appear as though—”

The Major cut him off. “You are sending me, Iron Klaus, to the Lubyanka.”

“Major, calm down…”

“You’re sending me directly to bloody KGB headquarters and you tell me to calm down!” Klaus was trying very hard not to lose his temper, but knew it was a battle he would lose as he got to his feet. “God dammit, why don’t you just shoot me now and then send all of NATO’s secrets to the Commies? You’ll save time.”

“Times are changing. We must all change with them,” the Chief said placatingly. “You’re not escorting this prisoner alone. SIS is sending two top agents with you.”

“Top agents my ass! They’ll probably send that idiot Lawrence!”

“Major!” the Chief exclaimed, attempting to regain some control of the situation. “This is an extremely sensitive exchange. Moscow requested you, by name, as the only agent they would trust in charge of this mission.”

“I’ll bet. And once I’m there, I’ll be detained indefinitely,” Klaus retorted, taking a long drag on his cigarette. “You’ve been trying to get me killed for years. Looks like you finally found the perfect opportunity.”

The Chief could not prevent a smile from twitching at the edges of his mouth. “This time, Major, I had nothing to do with it. This came from the top.”

Marvelous, the Major thought. All of NATO is trying to get me killed.

“Your…concerns in this matter were anticipated,” the Chief went on. “NATO doesn’t want to lose its best agent. Or the secrets he possesses.” He pulled a piece of paper with an elaborate seal embossed on it from a folder. “In order to further the cause of Glasnost and Perestroika, you will be going to Moscow as the personal guest of General Secretary Gorbachev,” he informed startlingly.

The Major blinked, taking the paper and examining it. It did indeed state that Major Klaus Heinz von dem Eberbach would be entering the Soviet Union as a VIP with temporary diplomatic status, and as the guest of the General Secretary, Mikhail Gorbachev.

Iron Klaus, the personal guest of the leader of the Communist party. What is the world coming to?

“Surely they don’t expect me to escort a prisoner unarmed, do they?” the Major said, looking up.

“No, you have clearance to carry a single firearm,” the Chief said, holding out another document.

“A single firearm?” the Major repeated as he took the document.

“Yes. A single—”

“Then I’m taking my Magnum.”

“Major, I think you might be better served with something more…reserved.”

“If I’m to be limited to one weapon, I’m taking the one with the most firepower, not the least.”

The Chief sighed heavily and started shuffling more papers around on his desk. “At the time of the prisoner exchange, there’s to be a conference at the Lubyanka. It was decided that you and the other agents would be less likely to have…erm, difficulties leaving the country if you join this gathering after dropping off the prisoner.”

The Major’s eyes narrowed. “What kind of conference?”

The Chief gave a wry smile. “Security and surveillance.”

The Major could not help a smile of irony coming to his face. That’s all the KGB needs, more surveillance equipment.

“Your inclusion is strictly a precaution,” the Chief went on. “Once the exchange has been made, you’re to return to Bonn. I want you here when the Chancellor makes his announcement.”

The Major responded with a non-committal grunt as he looked at the papers in his hand. The higher ups had apparently thought of everything to get him in to Russia. They were scant on details on getting him out should things go wrong, however.

* * *

Somewhere Over The Baltic Sea
August 1987

Dorian Red Gloria, Earl of Gloria settled back into his seat, a sigh of satisfaction escaping him. He took a sip of the champagne in his hand, idly playing with one of his long blond curls. He looked around the cabin of the private jet he occupied, a contented smile coming to his face. Yes, this is how I should travel all the time. In style, he thought as he stretched out his long legs. Before he could say a word, the glass in his hand was being refilled. Yes, this definitely is how I should be traveling.

“Don’t pour so fast,” a voice admonished, breaking into the Earl’s contented thoughts like fingernails on a blackboard. “The glass will overflow and you’ll waste it.”

“James…” Dorian said coolly. “We’re not paying for this. Now, please be quiet and let me enjoy being pampered.”

“But, my lord—”

Before James could protest further, Bonham was beside him. “Why’re you worryin’ about a few drops o’ champagne?” he said, throwing a quick glance to the back of the plane. “What with lunch bein’ prepare an’ all.”

James was suddenly bolt upright, his eyes wide. “What! They’ll be cutting the crusts off the sandwiches, I just know it.” He stormed purposefully to the back of the plane.

“That’ll keep ‘im busy for a while, milord,” Bonham said with a grin.

The Earl grinned back. “Thank you, Bonham.” The sound of protests suddenly erupted from the galley. “Although, I’m not sure how thankful the crew is going to be.”

“With luck, that’ll keep ‘im busy ‘til we land.”

“Yes.” The Earl settled further into his seat. “You know, I could get used to being a ‘Respectable Art Expert,’ Bonham. Especially if everyone requiring my services is as lavish as our friends in Leningrad.”

“Yes, m’lord.”

Dorian giggled as a sudden thought struck him. “Perhaps I should have some new cards printed. I’ll have ‘From Eroica with love’ on one side, and ‘Earl of Gloria, Art Expert’ on the other.”

“I’m sure James’ll appreciate not ‘aving t’ print two sets o’ cards,” Bonham observed dryly.

“I think this champagne is going to my head,” Dorian laughed, going on to take another sip.

Bonham smiled, shaking his head as he returned to his seat. He had no doubts that the Earl could get used to this life of respectability—until one of the pieces he was supposed to be appraising struck his fancy. Then Eroica would come out of retirement in the blink of an eye. Bonham had seen it happen too many times to believe for an instant that the most successful art thief in the world would ever permanently give up thieving.

Eroica glanced out a window, reflecting on the bizarre chain of events that had led to his being on a private jet with the Alexander Palace in Leningrad as his final destination. A very motivated couple from the West was attempting to organize an effort to have the Palace itself renovated, as well as restore all the works that had previously been housed there. A pipe dream, Eroica had thought at the time. Then came the thaw in the Cold War with the introduction of Glasnost by the newest head of the Communist Party, Mikhail Gorbachev.

Out of nowhere, the Earl was being asked his thoughts on the restoration project and if he would be interested in assisting in identifying the artworks that were to be returned to the Palace. Since he had not heard anything about restoration work actually beginning, Eroica was understandably surprised by this request and hesitated in voicing any interest in actually becoming involved. Then came the offer that made up his mind and clinched the deal. All of his expenses, and those of his personal staff, would be paid if he would agree to appraise the condition of the artworks that had been stored in Leningrad. How could he say no to this? Just what treasures of the Czars lay locked away for him to discover?

Eroica smiled when he recalled the look on the faces of the men who had been sent to negotiate for his services. They had offered a great deal of money. He, in turn, countered with his own terms. As payment for his services, he would be paid their stated fee and be allowed to retain a single piece of his choosing. In addition, he would be given all the proper documentation attesting to the fact that the work was his personal property and he was returning it to England. This way, when he actually did return to England with said artwork, there would be no bothersome problems with Customs, Taxes, Tariffs, Duty—or Interpol.

After a few days of negotiation, in which the Earl refused to compromise, his terms were met. A wise move, Eroica thought, since he would’ve just stolen what he wanted anyway. In fact, there was no saying that he wouldn’t steal some other works while he was doing his appraisals. After all, that was what he did best. The agreement just made transportation simpler.

Eroica chuckled as he picked up a small pouch. It looked like a lady’s drawstring purse from the Victorian Era, which is what he told everyone that it was. In reality, it was a very cleverly disguised piece of alien technology. A souvenir from an encounter with...well, an alien.* Two aliens, actually. A mysterious time traveler known only as the Doctor and his deliciously handsome companion, Jason.
*My story – Espionage On Ice

Eroica had twice encountered the pair.* In both instances, they had been acting as representatives of an ultra-secret group known as UNIT that specialized in alien incursions. The second time the Doctor had appeared, he had asked the Earl to assist him by doing what he did best. Steal. And from the KGB, no less. The Doctor had given Eroica the pouch, explaining that it was something called a pocket dimension. Despite its small size, it was capable of holding anything no matter how large. The opening would enlarge to accommodate whatever was being put inside. Eroica had even used it to hide himself once. His instructions had been quite simple. Steal everything that wasn’t nailed down, which he did. He was also told that he could keep everything he stole, which he also did. Including the pocket dimension.
* My stories – Do UNIT & NATO Spell Disaster and Espionage On Ice

There had been a few times when Eroica entertained the notion of putting the Leopard Tank he had stolen from Iron Klaus* inside the little pouch and surprising the German by returning it to him—in the middle of his study where the rest of the Eberbach collection was housed. He could just imagine the Major’s reaction when he saw the massive piece of steel sitting in the middle of the room with no indication as to how it had gotten there. Would the Major remember about the pocket dimension? Eroica wondered. Of course he would. He remembered everything. As tempting as the thought of annoying the Major in such a manner was, Eroica could not quite bring himself to part with the massive piece of polished steel.
* Iron Klaus

The sound of raised voices coming from the galley returned Eroica to the present with a jolt. He sighed heavily and wondered if a time would ever come when he would be able to enjoy a pleasant moment’s reflection without its being interrupted by harsh reality.

* * *

Little Hodcomb, England
July 1984

Inside the impossibly large TARDIS control room, neither Eroica nor the Major would have recognized the slight, fair-haired young man who now called himself the Doctor. They had met him when he was in his more bohemian fourth incarnation. He had looked older then, with a riot of dark curls on his head. He was now in his fifth incarnation, with a fresh open face that revealed no hint of his nearly eight centuries of existence. He had given up his long frock coat and even longer scarf for the rather unlikely costume of an Edwardian cricketer complete with white sweater, striped trousers, open necked shirt, and a cream-colored frock coat that had a stalk of celery inexplicably pinned to the lapel.

The Doctor was currently scowling down at the mushroom shaped central control console. He had just had a nasty run in with an alien presence on Earth that had also invaded the TARDIS console room.* He wanted to make absolutely certain that all the systems had survived undamaged. And since Tegan, one of his two current traveling companions, wanted to visit her Grandfather while they were there, he felt it best to stay out of the way.
* The Awakening

The Doctor’s second traveling companion entered via the inner door and stood watching as the Time Lord pottered around the console. Turlough appeared to be just a boy, an escapee from an English public school, but the Doctor suspected from the first that the young man was older than he let on—and not from Earth. He had let information slip that no one from Earth should know in the year 1983…and there always seemed to be more going on behind his piercing blue eyes.

“How much longer are we going to stay here?” Turlough asked. He was trying very hard not to sound whiny. He almost succeeded.

“Tired of Earth already?” the Doctor replied without looking up.

“Doctor, I was tired of Earth when I left with you to begin with,”* Turlough replied coolly. “Why do we have to keep coming back?”
* Mawdryn Undead

The Doctor drew a deep breath and looked up. “We came back because Tegan wanted to visit her Grandfather.”

“I know that! I mean all those other times.”

Before what seemed to be an ongoing argument could continue, there was a loud beep from the console. The Doctor scowled down at it, a surprised expression coming to his face.

“It seems I’m being hailed by Gallifrey,” he announced.

“What?” Turlough gasped. “Are they trying to get you back?” The last time they had been to the Doctor’s home planet, he could not get away fast enough,* and Turlough suspected the Time Lords were more than a little annoyed about the Doctor’s disappearance.
* The Five Doctors

“Let’s see what they want,” the Doctor sighed as he hit a switch. The shutters on the scanner screen opened, revealing a second surprise. The face on the screen belonged to Cardinal Wythe, a senior member of the High Council.

“Well, this is a surprise,” the Doctor remarked. “I rather expected Chancellor Flavia to be calling.”

Wythe’s eyes flickered. “Acting President Flavia is rather busy at the moment,” he replied tersely.

A ghost of a smile passed the Doctor’s lips but he did not reply.

“The High Council isn’t aware of this communication, Doctor,” the Cardinal then said startlingly.

“Really? You’re contacting me on your own?” The Doctor’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Why?”

“The majority of the High Council believes you wouldn’t respond if they tried to contact you. So they don’t want to even bother.”

“Indeed,” the Doctor said frostily.

“I thought otherwise. You are, after all, a Time Lord, Doctor. Whatever you may say to the contrary.”

Turlough saw the Doctor stiffened visibly. This was a bit of a sore point. Despite the fact that the Doctor continually insisted that he had renounced Time Lord society, he still spent the majority of his time ensuring that Time was not interfered with or changed in any way.

“Just what is it you want?” the Doctor demanded frostily. “I’m rather busy myself, you know.”

Wythe smiled thinly. “There’s a disturbance in the vortex.”

The Doctor scowled. Why tell me? “Disturbance?”

“Yes. A temporal disturbance that’s emanating from Earth in your current time zone. Approximately three years forward of your current position in the timestream.”

“What? But…that’s impossible. There are no time experiments at this point in Earth’s history.”

“From the temporal signature, we believe it may not be a time experiment at all,” Wythe informed. “It seems to be a malfunctioning transmat that’s opened a time corridor.”

“A transmat?” This was Turlough, who realized too late that he should not have spoken.

The Doctor threw a quick glance over to his companion before turning back to the scanner screen. “That seems feasible. There are quite a few matter transmission projects going on. It’s possible one might’ve gone wrong.”

“It seems to have gone very wrong,” the Cardinal agreed.

“Can you give me the exact space/time coordinates?”

Wythe reached down and touched a button. “You should be getting them now.”

The Doctor glanced down, looking up again when Wythe said, “Doctor, I know I don’t need to impress upon you how important this is…”

“No, you don’t,” the Doctor replied astringently. “I’m to contact you when this is resolved, I take it?”

“Don’t worry about that. I’ll be in touch.” With that, the transmission ended.

“Well, I never expected Wythe to be a member of the CIA,” the Doctor remarked in some surprise.

“CIA?”

The Doctor looked over at his companion and straightened. “The Celestial Intervention Agency,” he said unhelpfully. “Looks as though Tegan may have to cut her visit short after all.”

“Can’t we just leave her behind?” Turlough asked.

“Turlough!”

The young man held up his hands. “I didn’t mean it like that!” he protested. Although it’s not a bad idea. “What I meant was, why have her cut her visit short if it’s just a project gone wrong?”

“Turlough, if I didn’t know better, I’d say you were being unselfish,” came the amused reply.

“I’m glad you know better.”

The Doctor grinned. “You don’t even know where we’re going.”

Turlough grunted, waving a hand in the air. “Anywhere’s better than here.”

“Don’t be so sure,” the Doctor said darkly.

“Why, where are we going?”

The Doctor met the young man’s inquiring gaze. “Moscow, 1987.”

“Not in the dead of winter, I hope.”

“No, August, by the look of it.”

“Good.” Turlough saw an odd look on the Time Lord’s face. “Where in Moscow, Doctor?”

“KGB Headquarters.”

* * *