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You Can’t Keep A Good Man Down


Prologue


The Doctor had forgiven him. The nerve of that man! How dare he? Then he had the audacity to beg The Master to regenerate. Regenerate! Not bloody likely! He liked this face and had no desire to trade it in so soon.

The Master had one motto in life– Be Prepared! For centuries his former friend and fancy man had made a career of thwarting his every plan. So, when The Master became Harold Saxon, he’d put certain back up plans in place. For instance, if it looked as if The Doctor had indeed won and there was no way out, his faithful wife was to (at a discreet signal from him) shoot him, exactly as he had instructed her. As The Master lay dying in The Doctor’s arms, he smiled. This death was not an end but truly a beginning.

One year later—

Chapter 1

Harold Saxon sat as his desk, looking at the headline on page 2 of the newspaper.

Local Journalist Dies In Tragic Accident

After scanning the article, he looks across the desk as his press agent, Victoria Alexander. He eyed her warily. Minutes ago, she had walked into his office, laid the paper before him, then smiled coldly. “Problem solved... Master.”

Harold’s lip had twitched slightly at the word “Master”. He looked at her now. “Problem? What problem would that be, Miss Alexander?”

She spoke as if explaining to a child. “Yesterday, you had your entire campaign staff scared stiff as you ranted about journalist Tom Baker’s article questioning your competency to run for public office. You, yourself, stated he should drive off a cliff. I saw to it he did the next best thing. Ergo, problem solved.

Harold’s eyes narrowed. “Never speak to me in that tone of voice. This article says it was an accident. Road was wet, he was drunk.” He sat back in his chair.

Victoria stood slowly, sensual grace in her movements. She walked around to his side of the desk, leaning casually against it, and picked up the article. She held his gaze. “ And just who do you think got him drunk? He showed me a fairly good time and I took him to Heaven... so to speak.”

Harold cocked an eyebrow. Her meaning was quite clear. There was no need to ask if she’d been seen. Tom Baker had obviously spent most of the evening in her bed. He looked Victoria over. She was indeed an attractive woman, for an American. He silky red hair came just to her shoulders, which were slender. Her legs were long and toned. She always wore a variation of the same outfit. A skirt, usually black, always short. Black spike heeled boots, a black jacket, always well tailored. It usually covered a silk blouse. However, on occasion, the blouse would be replaced by a bustiere under the jacket. Although her work wardrobe always had an air of sensuality, it was never trashy. Today, the black jacket had long tails, and was secured in front by one large cabochon red button, gold trimmed. Her blouse , he saw, was purple silk and appeared to be.. A halter.. Or perhaps cropped? He saw a glimpse of ivory skin under the button, taut, ivory skin. His breath grew shallow. His eyes drifted to her legs. She stood with confidence, smiling at him as his eyes traveled back up to her face, and those ruby red lips. “Job well done.”

She inclined her head slightly. “Thank you. This warrants a promotion, don’t you think? I’m tired of being a minor player, Master. Make me your Press Agent, and I guarantee that you will be Prime Minister... again.”

His twin hearts quickened in pace. “Again? My dear, I have never been Prime Minister. This is my first run for the job.” His face held a dangerous coldness.

She smiled. “We both know that’s not true. I’m not a threat to you. I am an ally. Promote me and you will win. I’m not like the other humans here.”

Harold stood slowly. He stared at her, trying to hold her gaze long enough to attempt to push into her thoughts. He met the psychic equivalent of a brick wall. The first time he’d ever encountered that with a human. “Who are you?” He demanded firmly.

Victoria pushed away from his desk, closing the space between. Her perfume, subtle, sensual engulfed his senses. She reached out to straighten his tie, her voice warm. “I’m the woman who will put you where you belong– on top.”

He certainly caught the double meaning. Harold grabbed her wrists painfully. She didn’t wince, merely smiled. Although Harold Saxon was far from human, being male he did have human needs... and desires. This human was affecting him in a way no human woman ever had, not even Lucy. The thought excited him and made him highly suspicious. “I don’t need your help to be.. ‘on top’. I can manage that on my own.” What was he doing? Flirting.. With a human?

She smirked. “Now there’s a promising thought!” There was no fear in her eyes at his veiled threat. She jerked her wrists free, painfully, then slid away from him. “Think it over... Master. When you have made your choice , call my cell. I’ll be at home, or perhaps out... having ‘fun’.” She walked towards the door. “I can do things to help you that no other fellow human can. For example, check you old press clippings.” She saw a momentary look of surprise in his beautiful brown eyes. She merely laughed softly, arrogantly. “Just check them.”

The nerve! No one got the better of Harold Saxon! His voice held a note of warning. “I have not given you permission to leave!”

Her hand was on the knob of the now opened door. She stood there, one hand on her curvaceous hip. “No, you haven’t. I’ll be expecting your call. Give my best to your wife.” With that, she was gone.

The Master didn’t know what he was more angry at, his physical reaction to Victoria, or her cocky attitude with him. He sat down and grabbed the phone, stabbing the number onto the keypad. He spoke angrily at first, then tried to regain his composure. “Lucy! Sorry, Lucy, my dear, please bring me the press clippings from the past. All of them.” There was a pause. “When? NOW, you silly cow!” He slammed down the phone.

He poured a brandy. This was impossible! Yet another of his back up plans made it impossible for Victoria to know he had been Prime Minister, or remember he was The Master, for that matter! He’d made certain that if the hypnotic drumming ever ceased for longer than 6 months, everyone, everywhere would forget the name Harold Saxon and anything associated with it, complete and total memory wipe. Yes, there were reports in the archives of newspapers but he had a plan for dealing with those when they would surface. He thought it odd that even this early in his campaign, none of them had. He drank the brandy with one gulp. Where was that blasted woman? There was a knock on his door. “Enter!” He barked.

Lucy rushed in, clearly upset, her arms full of thick manilla folders. “Harry, dear, I don’t understand it! I... I am truly so sorry! Please do not be angry with me!

Harold stood quickly, rushing to take the folders from her. “What are you waffling about, woman? Give those to me!” He slammed them onto the desk and began to look at them– the complete history of his brief reign, and downfall. Every article, every accolade, every interview. He picked up clipping after clipping. Then began throwing them about as he searched frantically through them! So, this was why none of the past had returned to haunt him. The question was... how? He stared at the clippings scattered everywhere. Every page was... blank! Not one word of type on any of them!

Lucy spoke in her trembling voice, nothing like the confident voice of one Victoria Alexander. “Har.. Harry! How is this possible? What does it mean? I swear, they’ve been locked in the safe! I never shared the password with anyone! Who could have done this... and why?

Harold closed his eyes, breathing deeply. He resisted the urge to slap her.. Barely. “Get out. Leave me!” She left quickly. He grabbed the phone and called his head of security, demanding every bit of information the man could find on Victoria Alexander, and he did not want any of it to come from her personnel file! Then he sat back and waited, fuming, wanting to kill, fighting the urge... for now.