Author's Note: Thanks very much to MayFairy and Imorgen for reviewing the previous chapter. It means a lot to know that at least two people are enjoying this. Here's the next bit!

CHAPTER THREE

Tejana stood at the back of the crowd outside the iconic Claridges Hotel, unable to believe the number of people milling around. It was almost as if a famous pop star was expected to appear at any moment. People were craning to see the door, many of them holding autograph books or waving placards with the "Vote Saxon!" slogan. Somewhere in the middle of the crowd, someone started to shout, "Vote Saxon! Vote Saxon! Vote Saxon!" The chant was taken up by hundreds of others, until the noise was almost deafening. And everywhere in the crowd, people were unconsciously tapping out a four-beat rhythm, not even realising they were doing it.

One...two...three...four... One...two...three...four... One...two...three...four...

Tejana stared around in astonishment. She had never understood before just how greatly the subtle influence of the Archangel Network had affected the British population in 2008. The atmosphere outside the hotel was almost electric, reminding her of the time she went to a Beatles concert in the 1960s with the Doctor, where they had seen teenage girls screaming and fainting everywhere from sheer hysteria. Some of these people were just as rabid in their evident adoration of Harold Saxon, with a cordon of uniformed police and black-dressed security guards having to work overtime to keep the excited, surging mob back from storming the hotel entrance.

Silently, she cursed the loss of her personal perception filter with the rest of her possessions back on Mnemosyne. Without that, she was going to find it very difficult to slip past the vigilant guards into the hotel in the middle of all this pandemonium. But then she remembered another ace she had up her sleeve or, more accurately, in her pocket. Perhaps she didn't have to sneak in. Perhaps she could just walk right in the front door.

Putting her hand into the back pocket of her jeans, she drew out her old Torchwood ID. She hadn't taken it with her when she ran off to travel with the Master. It had been left on her desk at the Hub, from where, for some reason, the Doctor had retrieved it and returned it to her. Tejana suspected that her father was hoping she might eventually try to pick up the threads of her old life, perhaps even building a new future, for her and her child, with Jack. Deep in her hearts, she knew that was never going to happen. But perhaps the ID might come in handy after all.

She glanced down at the small laminated card in her hand. It was not a photo ID, thank goodness, considering her regeneration had changed her appearance so drastically. But here in 2008, the security clearance codes listed on the card should be sufficient to grant her access anywhere. Moreover, Tejana had always suspected that the Torchwood IDs were printed on slightly psychic paper, since no-one had ever challenged any member of the team once they were produced. She had asked Jack about it once, but he had just given her his trademark grin and had told her that she didn't want to know.

From what she could tell, the black-dressed security men were actually in charge of maintaining order outside the hotel, with the police called in as extra back-up. That didn't surprise Tejana. Before the elections, people had assumed that these men were merely Harold Saxon's personal bodyguard. But no-one had ever realised just how many of them there were. It was only after the Master had taken over the world with the Toclafane that it became apparent that he had been building his own personal human army all along. After that, the black-dressed soldiers had become known as the United Containment Forces, or the UCF. Backed up by the lethal Toclafane, they had been the ones to enforce the Master's martial law on the Earth, organising the work camps and ruthlessly destroying any attempt at rebellion.

Taking a deep breath, fighting her inherent claustrophobia, Tejana began ducking and weaving through the swelling mob of people, using her small size as an advantage to push through to the front. She hated crowds. It wasn't that long ago that she had nearly been crushed to death in a stampeding crowd on Mnemosyne and she had no wish to repeat the experience. Especially since this time, if the mob turned nasty, there was no John Hart to save her.

At last, she managed to reach one of the security guards standing at the edge of the cordon. He was a big, blonde man, wearing Sergeant's stripes on his arm.

"Excuse me," she said. Then, as he ignored her, she repeated more loudly, "EXCUSE ME!"

A pair of pale blue eyes swivelled towards her and looked her up and down, taking in her small stature and her delicate features, framed by an unruly mass of dark-copper hair. His mouth widened in an amused, condescending smile.

"I hope you're not going to ask me to get you in to see Mister Saxon, miss, because I'd hate to have to say no to a pretty little thing like you."

Tejana's gaze was cold and haughty as she handed him her ID card. "My name is Anna Smith, Sergeant. I may be a 'pretty little thing', as you so charmingly put it, but I am also a Torchwood operative and I have been assigned to attend this event as an undercover observer. So I would appreciate it if you would let me through, please."

The Sergeant stared down at the ID in his hand, a look of astonishment and growing interest spreading across his weathered face. "Torchwood!" he exclaimed, awestruck.

He was obviously familiar with the name. Torchwood had always been the most non-secret "secret organisation" Tejana had ever come across. When she had worked with them in Cardiff, they had driven around in a huge, black SUV with "Torchwood" emblazoned on the side, for Gallifrey's sake – it had hardly been subtle. And Owen had regularly ordered pizza to be delivered directly to the Hub under the name of Torchwood. Jack had always been too arrogant to care much about secrecy. All the extra attention had seemed to amuse him, as if it gave their team some sort of celebrity status. From the expression on this soldier's face, it appeared that Torchwood London had been no more discreet in their day.

"You don't think there are aliens in there, do you?" he asked in a breathless undertone, his eyes bright and eager at the prospect, clearly hoping for some excitement to brighten his mundane day.

A small, ironic smile touched her lips. He had no idea. In four days, he and the rest of the human race were going to be neck deep in aliens, with more excitement than any of them had ever imagined or wanted. "You can never be too careful, Sergeant. Now, if you wouldn't mind, I need to do my job."

"Of course, Ms. Smith," he said, snapping smartly to attention. "This way."

And without any further discussion, he ushered her courteously through the security cordon into the hotel and through to the ballroom, where the charity banquet was being held. The huge, Art Deco-styled room was lavishly decorated in silver and black and was filled with large round tables, laden with enormous flower arrangements. Natural light flooded in through the five massive floor-to-ceiling windows, glittering off what seemed like acres of shining glassware and cutlery. Scores of elegantly dressed people were seated at the tables, all their heads turned with rapt attention to the long table on a dais at the far end of the room, where the special guests and VIPs sat.

"They've just finished dessert," the Sergeant said, bending down to whisper in Tejana's ear as they stood unobtrusively with the other security personnel and the serving staff at the back of the room. "You're just in time to hear Mr Saxon give his speech."

As Tejana watched, a fat man with a large black moustache moved to stand behind a polished wooden lectern, clearing his throat self-consciously before bending his head towards the microphone in front of him.

"And now, ladies and gentlemen, without any further ado," he announced in a deep, ponderous voice. "I give you our guest of honour...Harold Saxon."

The room rocked with thunderous applause. After that, Tejana was no longer aware of the Sergeant, or the fat man, or anyone else in the room. The only person who existed for her was the handsome man in the dark suit who took his place behind the lectern, looking out over the audience with that beautiful, white, familiar smile that never once reached his eyes.

And outside the big ballroom windows, a dark shadow seemed to slip across the brightness of the sun.

"Come on, we have to hurry," the Doctor urged, striding along the footpath as fast as he could, dodging the startled shoppers who got in his way. "I'm guessing she's got at least a half an hour's start on us."

"Can't you...you know...talk to her in your head?" Rory asked, hand-in-hand with Amy, both of them breathless from trying to keep up with the Time-Lord's long-legged pace. "That psychic link thingie?"

"I could," the Doctor replied over his shoulder. "Except that she's shielding for all she's worth and I can't get through. She knows she shouldn't be doing this and she doesn't want me trying to stop her."

Glancing up at the sky, Amy turned her coat collar up around her ears as she hurried along. Dark clouds were swirling directly above them in the previously clear sky.

"Looks like there's going to be a storm," she said. "A bad one."

The Doctor increased his pace still further, without even bothering to look up. "That's not a storm," he replied curtly.

"What is it then?" Rory inquired, eyeing the churning black clouds with apprehension.

"She's found him. Things are already starting to go wrong."

"And if they go properly wrong? What happens then?"

The Doctor gave him a piercing glance. "Let's just hope we never have to find out, Rory."