Ice Station Wolfenstein

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Detective Chief Inspector (DCI) Patrick Smith could not tell which was annoying him more, the treacherous icy slush on the dark, ungritted path or the irritatingly cheerful neon Santa ringing his bell in the window. He half-walked, half-skated toward the door, occasionally making a lunge for the handrail to stop himself from slipping.

"It's all right for you," he scowled at the garish Santa as he reached the main door. "You've only got to get around to everyone's house one night of the year." He pushed the buzzer.

"Forth Valley Assisted Living, may I help you?" a tinny voice inquired.

"Lothian and Borders Police," Smith replied. "I'm responding to a call."

"Hang on a second." The intercom went dead. A few moments later, a short, middle-aged woman in a nurse's uniform and a thick cardigan appeared. "Thanks for coming out," she said, as she opened the door to let Smith in. "It's probably nothing, but I'm here on my own tonight and I just wanted to be sure…" She led him into a little room, scarcely bigger than a cupboard, crammed with paperwork. On one wall there was a board with a floor plan of the facility, with a little red bulb in each room. One of these, G21, was flashing urgently.

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