The Master Chronicles – 'Pursuit'

The Master wakes with a start. What's that irritating noise? He blinks sleep from his eyes, groggily taking in his surroundings, and realises that the sound is coming from Gwen's mobile phone.

By the time he's located the small device (it had fallen from his pocket and is under the driver's seat) it's stopped trilling, but an intermittent beep tells him that someone has left a message. He flips the lid open, finds the voicemail function and puts it to his ear.

'Hiya sweetheart – me and my mornin' glory missed you... a phone call would've been nice, just to let me know you were doing an all-nighter... I'm off to work now. Give us a call when you get a minute. Love you.' The sound of someone blowing a kiss follows, and the Master raises an eyebrow, looking at the sender's tag. 'Love you too, Rhys...' he mutters, flipping the phone shut. A thought occurs to him and he flips it open again, quickly scrolling down the stored numbers before snapping it shut again. No Doctor – too much to hope for. But a 'Martha J' is listed. The Master's heart beats faster as he slips the mobile into the pocket of his hoody. Now things are starting to look up! But first he needs to eat again; he can't think straight...

Adam wakes, feeling stiff necked and thirsty, as Gregson pull the car off the motorway and into Cardiff Gate Services. Time for breakfast and a catch up call to Harry. They drive past a small blue saloon but Adam doesn't notice either it or the person in the driver's seat, who is frowning as he looks down at the mobile phone in his hand.

Martha yawns widely. She isn't going to make the Hub for breakfast; coffee and a doughnut at Cardiff Gate Services would have to do. She needs caffeine and sugar, but not necessarily in that order...

As she is walks back to her car, coffee and sandwich in hand, Martha's phone pings, indicating an incoming text. It's from Gwen. 'Need to see you – where are you? Text me ASAP x Gwen' Martha frowns.

Adam and Gregson walk back to the car, Adam having confirmed with Harry that there have been no further sightings of Saxon. He knows where the Torchwood offices are located – but it's hardly going to be a case of 'Excuse me - I'd like our prisoner back, please, when you've quite finished with him,' is it? Some backup would have been nice too, but with everyone else already deployed elsewhere, there's nothing for it but to make the best of a bad job. He ponders ways of gaining access to Torchwood without being seen.

Adam doesn't notice the young man in the hooded sweatshirt walking across the car park to the service station. He, however, sees Adam, and keeps his face carefully averted.

'Jack, we've got a signal!'

Tosh is still finding it hard to reconcile the Harold Saxon she knows with the person Jack had described. Now to hear that he had raped Gwen... Tosh shivers. He'd always seemed so nice... She had votedfor him. How had he fooled so many people?

The Master waits impatiently for a reply to his text as he makes his way back to the service station, hood pulled up to obscure as much of his face as possible. He knows that CCTV will be capturing his every move; but until Gwen manages to raise the alarm Torchwood, MI5 and the Police will not be aware of his changed appearance. He should have made sure that Gwen wouldn't be able to tell anyone. Why hadn't he killed her? He can't explain it – compassion is not a concept he usually embraces. But with luck he might escape detection long enough to find Martha Jones, who is probably still tagging along after the Doctor like a lovesick puppy. Although perhaps not, if she's here on Earth...if she isn't, and if he can lure her back here, hopefully the Doctor will follow. He doesn't doubt that Torchwood have plans for him which may or may not involve the Doctor. Somehow he has to stay one step ahead of them until the Doctor arrives, as the Master knows he will, eventually. He hopes it won't be too late.

He'd spotted the MI5 agent, Adam, in the car park, but is confident that he hasn't been recognised. How long ago was that? He scowls as he realises that he isn't even sure how long he'd slept in Gwen's poky little vehicle. That bothers him – what has happened to his innate ability to gauge the passing of time? With a sigh, he flips open Gwen's phone again and scrolls through the menu to 'Jones, Martha.'

Martha gulps the scalding coffee, leaving the sandwich she'd eventually decided on untouched. Somehow her appetite has deserted her, and she reads Gwen's text again with a frown. The 'sent' time is less than half an hour ago; but if Gwen had been rescued why has no-one called her? It's probably safer, therefore, to assume that Gwen has sent this whilst still captive. Maybe she doesn't even have the phone – it could be a trap. Perhaps the Master has returned to take revenge on all those who spoiled his plans for universal domination. She is undoubtedly on his list, as will be – of course! He's probably planning to use her to get to the Doctor!

Not for the first time, Martha wonders how the Doctor will react to the Master's return. He had been so... well, devastatedwhen the Master had died – Martha had been very worried about him. It had felt wrong to be worried about the Doctor, who had always seemed so strong – in Martha's experience nothing could faze him for very long. Even in his loopiest moments, she'd always known that he was In Charge, knew what was what and would get them out of trouble. But in the days following the Master's death, Martha had been forced to consider the possibility that just maybe, this time, he was defeated. If the Doctor had been human, Martha would have said he was heading for a breakdown. But this amazing young/old man with the mind of an ancient race had somehow picked himself up, dusted himself off, and carried on. And if there had sometimes been a weight to his steps and a haunted look in his eye which fairly screamed his loneliness – he simply seemed to ignore it. . Business as usual. Well, almost.

If it hadn't been for her family, Martha knows that the void in her life created by the absence of the Doctor might have overwhelmed her. It had been her choice, of course – and a necessary one. Sometimes you just have to get out, as she had told the Doctor. For a long time, his absence and the guilt she felt (and still feels, if she is honest) for leaving him when (in spite of his assertions to the contrary) she knows that for the first time he had really needed her, are like a nagging toothache – sometimes it fades into the background, but it never quitegoes away. How then, she wondered, must the Doctor feel - knowing himself to be the last of his people? She knows something of the psychic connection Time Lords have with each other and in trying to understand this she can only try to imagine how she would feel if, say, the Master had succeeded in his plans and she had found herself to be the only Human to survive. How would she have found the strength to go on? How the Doctor continues to function is surely testament to his strength of will.

So how will he react to the Master's reappearance after everything that's happened? Death and chaos will surely follow the Master like a miasma. Martha crumples up the empty coffee cup and flips open her phone.

'Jack? It's Martha. I've just had a text from Gwen –'

'Yeah, we know! We're on to him, Martha – stay put! He's not far from you. Gwen is safe so don't reply and don't go anywhere near him. I'm on my way.'

There she is... The Master flips the phone shut. Gwen's mobile had, of course, at one time been subscribed to the Archangel network. He would have expected Archangel to have been shut down after the Doctor ruined his plans, but no; it's still up and running, which is even better. He'd designed the system to leave little 'sleeper' functions on all subscribed mobiles; most humans wouldn't even be aware of them, but they were part of his backup measures in case something went wrong – as they have an annoying habit of doing whenever the Doctor starts meddling. The fact that Gwen's phone still has them embedded is evidence that the Doctor hasn't thought to look for them. Getting sloppy, Doctor...

He suppresses another yawn and massages his temples, trying to ease the headache which has been building up since he woke. The intervals between waking refreshed and the headache making itself felt are becoming shorter and shorter. He doesn't like to dwell on what that might mean; but whatever it is, it can't be good. Wearily, he gets out of the car.

Martha shuts her phone with a snap, and heaves a sigh of relief that Gwen is safe. She is surprised – what had made the Master decide to spare Gwen's life? The Master she knows would have killed Gwen without a second thought. Clearly he is up to something...

Suddenly the car door is wrenched open and a hand fastens itself tightly around her throat.

'Surprise!'

Martha claws desperately at the Master's wrist, fighting for air - but his grip is vice-like. As her vision begins to darken, Martha curses. She'd been stupid to leave the car door unlocked, knowing that the Master is back... Now she's going to pay the price. Mum...

As Martha slumps, unconscious, the Master relaxes his grip. He doesn't want Martha Jones dead – not just yet. She has a job to do. But first he has to get out of here. Both Gwen and Martha's cars are presumably known to Torchwood so he'll have to source alternative transport. And he knows just where to find it...

Adam swears roundly, shocked at the speed with which it had happened. Gregson had been in the act of fastening his seatbelt when his door had been flung open; hands had reached in and wrenched the man's head sharply to the right until his vertebrae had snapped with a sickening crack. As Adam reached for his seatbelt release, Saxon had leaned in – a second, fluid movement and the drivers' pistol was now pointed unwaveringly at Adam's right temple.

'Give me one good reason why I shouldn't splatter your brains all over the interior of this vehicle.' Saxon's tone is conversational.

Adam forces himself to relax. Because if you were going to, you would have done it already... 'Because you need the car and having my blood all over it would attract attention.' He remains perfectly still, his gaze locked with Saxons'. He takes in the man's altered appearance; the blond hair, the casual clothing. An image flashes in his mind's eye – a figure in the car park, hood up, face averted... Bloody hell!Incredibly, the bruises on Saxon's face have already begun to fade but he still looks pale and gaunt.

'Good point, wrong answer...and I'm not in the least bit squeamish so I'll do it if I have to. Fact is, Adam, I'm after your body...' Saxon grins and winks lewdly at Adam.

'You won't get far, Saxon. We have CCTV all over.' Saxon's eyes are wild, slightly unfocused. Adam hopes that he might be about to keel over again, but after a barely perceptible shiver he continues as if nothing had happened.

'Well, you just let me worry about that. Unfasten his seat belt.'

Adam does as he's told and Saxon hauls Gregson's body out onto the tarmac; letting it fall in an untidy tangle of limbs. He slides smoothly into the vacant seat, somehow managing to keep the gun trained on Adam the whole time. Adam doesn't doubt that Saxon will use it – there's a manic glitter in the man's eyes which warns him to be very careful. Clearly Saxon still has psychopathic tendencies and Adam is not about to encourage them if he can possibly help it. On the other hand...Saxon's strength had been impressive, but Adam notes the tenseness with which he holds himself – it seems that he is still in some considerable pain from his injuries. That he had got the jump on two fit MI5 agents is remarkable and more than a bit embarrassing. The pistol's barrel is cold against his right temple – what happens next?

With astonishing speed, Saxon swings his arm back then brings the pistol down on Adam's temple with savage glee.

Someone with very cold hands is slapping her face repeatedly – Martha's eyes shoot open.

'It so goodof you to join us, Miss Jones.'

Martha blinks, gulping as memory floods back. She's slumped in the rear seat of an unfamiliar car, wrists bound tightly in front of her. Sitting in the driver's seat is ... she blinks. Yes, it's the Master, although he looks markedly different; white blond hair and casual clothing – a black hooded sweatshirt and jeans. A blond man she doesn't recognise lies unconscious on the seat beside her, his face pressed against the opposite window and a bloody bruise on his right temple. A quick glance beyond him tells her that they're still in the service station car park. She hasn't been unconscious for long, she hopes. Her throat feels bruised and sore, her voice strained as she replies.

'You won't get far, Master – Torchwood is on to you!'

The Master smirks. 'Oh, it's sonice to hear my name at last – I was getting rather tired of being good old Harry Saxon. Although it did have some advantages...' he seems to shake himself, bestowing one of Saxons' pitying looks on her. 'As for Torchwood...I think you'll find that they're heading in quite the wrong direction... ' He laughs, twisting around in the seat and gunning the engine before taking off with a squeal of tyres. Martha barely manages to avoid cracking her head on the window as they shoot across of the car park. The unconscious man is thrown against Martha, his head bouncing off the seat in front of her. She winces on his behalf.

'What do you mean?' Bound as she is, Martha can't lift the man away from her, so shifts her position slightly so that his head is lying across her lap. He will have a terrible crick in his back when he wakes but there isn't much she can do about that for the moment.

'A little mobile misdirection, Martha Jones. We don't need the Freak spoiling our happy reunion, now do we?'

'If anyone's the freak around here, it's you!' Martha knows she shouldn't goad him, but she can't help it – anger and despair rise up her throat until she feels sick with it.

'Now, now – Iget to dish out the insults around here, not you, girly. Still trotting along behind the Doctor, are we? How is the old fellow these days? More to the point, whereis he?' Martha glares at the back of his neck and the Master sniggers as he sees this in the rear view mirror. 'It would seem that you've been abandoned, Miss Jones...'

'As if you really care – and how come you're still alive, anyway? You were dead– I saw you die!' Martha is shocked by how just easily she'd been caught – and angry with herself for being so careless, angry with him for not staying dead. He's had a change of hair colour and clothes and seems to have recovered considerably since she last saw him in the hospital; but he looks thinner, weary.

To Martha's surprise, the Master does not reply. She looks in the rear view mirror and sees him frown; one hand rubs his temple distractedly.

He still doesn't remember what happened!Martha isn't sure yet how she can use this knowledge against him, so files it away for possible future use. What else can't he remember?

'Where are we going?'

'Somewhere quiet, of course - so that we can renew our acquaintance. And you can phone our mutual friend for me.'

Martha snorts. 'Think again, Saxon.'

The Master thumps the steering wheel in sudden anger – at the use of a name he's professed to be tired of, or her refusal? The car swerves erratically and horns blare as other drivers make their displeasure known.

'Are you mad? Watch what you're doing!' Martha lurches forward, trying to grab the blond man's head as the movement threatens to send his head crashing into the back of the drivers' seat for a second time. He groans quietly.

'If you're trying to kill us or get stopped by the police for dangerous driving then you're going the right way about it!.' Martha fumes at the Master; she glares at him in the rear view mirror.

'Why don't you just shut up?' The Masters' tone is icy, but he brings their speed down all the same.

Movement and another groan from the man lying across her legs distracts Martha and with some relief she turns her attention to him, helping him up as best she can. Her bonds are so tight that she has all but lost the feeling in her hands and it's not an easy task. Eventually he's sitting upright, leaning against her and blinking dazedly as he tries to clear his head.

'Are you OK?' she asks, noting his pallor as he reaches up bound hands to investigate the wound on his temple. 'I'm Martha.'

'Yeah ...Adam – ' He gulps, swallows convulsively. Martha recognises the signs.

'Saxon! Stop the car!' But it's too late and Adam lurches forward, vomiting onto the floor between his feet.

'Oh for Rassilon's sake – you people are so pathetic!' The Master wrinkles his nose in distaste but does not slow the car.

Adam coughs, spits, and wipes his mouth on his sleeve.

'Sorry about that...' he grimaces apologetically at Martha.

'No worries. I'm a Doctor, by the way. You could be concussed - may I?' She turns and brings her arms up to cover his right eye, then removes it, watches the pupil response and then does the same with the other eye.

'I think you're okay. Just take a few deep breaths. We should really get you checked over properly though.'

'Not much chance of that at the moment...' Adam follows her advice, leaning back and closing his eyes, breathing deeply.

'So how do you know this creep?' he asks quietly, opening his eyes and indicating the Master, who has taken them off the motorway and is heading into the hills.

'It's kind of a long story... I know an acquaintance of his. How do youknow him?'

Before Adam can answer, the Master interrupts.

'I do so like it when my new friends get along – Mr MI5 and Miss Doctor's Companion... isn't this cosy?' He chuckles, but Martha thinks his humour seems somewhat false; he's certainly not up to his form of a few months ago.

'Are you mad, Saxon? How far do you really think you can get before MI5 catch up with you?' Adam thinks Saxon mustbe mad; he can't possibly hope to get away with any of this, can he?

'Ooh – quite a long way, I imagine, don't you? Since no-one even knows you're MIA yet.' He snorts. 'You people do love your acronyms, don't you – MI5, MIA, DOA... which is what you'llboth be if you don't shut up with the idle chatter.' The Master – typically- has changed his mind, and turns his attention back to the road. A fact for which Martha is thankful; she really isn't ready to die just yet.

She glances at Adam, who raises an eyebrow quizzically, his eyes sliding to both their hands. Martha nods.

Adam attempts to loosen Martha's restraints but his bonds are also tight – deprived of blood and thus almost all feeling, his fingers fumble uselessly at the material, which looks like strips torn from a cotton t-shirt. Martha is becoming increasingly concerned about the loss of circulation for both of them, but says nothing of this to Adam. He gives a little shake of his head. Martha swallows and shifts her position, conscious of a sick feeling deep in the pit of her stomach. How long will it take Jack to realise and pick up their trail again?

Suddenly they're driving over rough ground; a farm track by the look of it. After a few hundred yards they round a bend and see a stone farmhouse, hidden from the road by a small copse of trees. The car jerks to a stop and the Master retrieves the pistol from his waistband, steps out of the car and opens Martha's door. He points the pistol at her and steps back, stumbling slightly on the uneven ground.

'Out you come. Slowly. You '– he glares at Adam – 'wait.' As Martha steps out of the car, the Master grabs her arm and puts gun to her temple.

'Now, out of the car, Mister MI5.' Adam warily climbs out, glad to leave the stink of vomit behind. He knows that they are two to Saxon's one and that Saxon is undoubtedly insane - but bound as he and Martha are, they are at a complete disadvantage. It's a waiting game and he'll have to be patient. Patience doesn't seem to be one of Saxon's strengths, he notes, as the man bids him curtly to walk in front of Martha. Saxon is so off the wall that he's bound to make a mistake sooner or later. The three of them trudge slowly up the path to the house, the Master still holding the gun to Martha's head.

'Open the door.'

Adam pushes at the door – it's unlocked and swings inwards with a squeak of neglect. He goes through into a stone-flagged kitchen, which is empty. It appears that the occupants are out. A city-dweller, Adam is amazed that anyone would leave their home unlocked, but supposes that they may not be far –perhaps in the fields tending to the animals. He hopes they don't return anytime soon, for their own good.

The Master follows him in, hand gripping Martha's arm so tightly that she winces, the pistol barrel cool at her temple. She can see that Adam is tense, obviously waiting for a chance to take the Master down, and hopes he will choose his moment carefully. She knows that the Master wants her alive – how else can he lure the Doctor? But why bring the MI5 agent along – it would seem to be one risk too many and Martha can't imagine why the Master has let him live. He'd let Gwen live, too, hadn't he – what's his plan? She has to assume that he has one – the Doctor had told her about the Master's numerous failed attempts at universal domination. Doctor, where are you? We need you...

The Master spots a door leading off from the kitchen. He takes Martha with him as he unlocks it, opens the door wide and steps back, pulling her with him. It's a cellar, and he smiles, happy with his discovery. He looks at Adam, nods towards the steps.

'Down you go, Mister MI5.' His eyes gleam malevolently at the Agent.

As Adam walks past, the Master puts a hand between his shoulder blades and pushes hard - Martha gasps as Adam loses his balance and falls forward, tumbling down the steps with a sickening clatter. Martha gulps, swallowing anger and fear..

'You mad bastard!' she can't help herself, and cries out as the Master's grip on her arm tightens until she can feel the bruises forming. 'Are you trying to kill him?' Why bring him at all then?

'Fancy him, do you? He is rather tasty in a rough sort of way, isn't he? If you behave yourself, I'll let you join him and you can play Doctors and Nurses in the cellar.' He slams the cellar door shut, locks it and pockets the key. Dragging her to the kitchen table, he kicks out a chair and pushes her into it.

'Now then, Martha Jones ...' he fishes around in the pocket of his jeans, pulling out Martha's mobile phone. He flips it open, finds the menu and quickly scans it. There's no Doctor listed there, but he guesses she will have disguised the number. He doesn't fancy ringing them all until he gets the right one, isn't sure he has time. His head is pounding again and it's getting harder to think...

'If you think I'm bringing the Doctor here so that you can humiliate him all over again, you can forget it!' she snaps. Her wrists are really painful now, the constricted flesh swelling around the restraints. She rubs them against her legs, trying to relieve the pain.

'If you want pretty boy there' and he nods towards the cellar 'to live, you'll do as I say. Call the Doctor. After all, aren't Doctors supposedto save lives? Save his. Oh go on – you know you want to.' He smirks, but Martha can see the Master's discomfort as he starts to blink repeatedly, rubbing the back of his neck in a gesture which oddly reminds her of the Doctor. He's obviously not feeling brilliant, and Martha wonders... if she can delay long enough, might he drop his guard sufficiently for her to overpower him? Martha isn't sure that she can do it, bound as she is; but she'd learned a few escape techniques serving with UNIT. If the opportunity presents itself she'll have a damn good try.

She calls his bluff. 'No. I won't.'

The Master slams a fist down on the table and she jumps. Suddenly he's standing behind her, his hand closing around her throat, cold fingers covering the bruises he made last time. Martha gasps for air as he squeezes her windpipe shut.

'Let's get one thing straight, Miss Jones,' and he leans in close, hisses in her ear, 'I'd prefer to use you as live bait. But if you won't play nicely... There's more than one way to catch a Doctor, amd kist so you know, using you is simply the easiest.' He relaxes his grip just a little.

Martha glares at the Master and thinks quickly as she draws in precious air.

'OK.' she hesitates.. 'Give me the phone.'

He shakes his head, waggles a grubby forfinger at her.

'Not going to happen... I wasn't born yesterday.' He stops and leans in close again, his cheek against hers as he whispers in her ear; Martha tries very hard to suppress a shudder. 'I'll tell you what. You tell me what short-code the Doctor's number is and I'llmake the call...how about that, Martha Jones?' And he kisses her cheek, licks it as he pulls away and gives her an expectant look. Martha doesn't disappoint and he wipes her spittle from his face with a smirk.

'You'll pay for that, you know.' he says conversationally. 'Now; the number, if you please.'

Martha sighs as if beaten.

'Five.' She says in a small, defeated voice.

Well done! Now wasn't that easy?'

The Master keys the number, puts the phone to his ear and waits with an air of expectation, wiggling his eyebrows at Martha in a way which might be comical under any other circumstances. She waits and tries not to hold her breath too obviously. Fear scurries around her and makes her shiver. She's trying hard not to show it, knowing that it would give him pleasure – but it's difficult. As the call goes through his eyes widen and then narrow with anger.

'You little bitch!'