gns.theplutopact-第27节

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s；　and　shipping　ports　are　henceforth　closed　down；　and　this　action　will　be　under　the　direct　supervision　of　the　armed　forces。　I　must　stress　that　these　bans　may　be　lifted　within　a　matter　of　days。　All　steps　taken　are　of　a　temporary　nature；　with　the　interests　of　the　public　foremost。'
　　
　　The　sweetener；　Coyle　smiled　grimly　to　himself。　The　treat　after　the　medicine。　The　nation　was　being　treated　like　a　small　child；　but　this　was　how　it　suited　the　government。　Stop　panic　and　rioting　at　all　costs。　Democracy　itself　was　at　stake。
　　
　　Coyle　wondered　how　many　planes　had　already　left　the　country　carrying　people　who　had　received　a　tip…off　from　friends　in　high　places。　Their　efforts　to　find　sanctuary　would　only　be　temporary。　A　disaster　of　this　nature　would　have　worldwide　repercussions。　There　would　be　no　escape　for　any　of　them。
　　
　　He　switched　off　the　television。　All　over　the　country　now；　people　would　be　sitting　in　their　homes　staring　in　shock　at　a　square　of　nothingness；　a　crystal…ball　forecasting　their　futures。　Oblivion。
　　
　　He　resumed　his　seat　and　lit　a　cigarette；　wondering　if　the　two　of　them　would　sit　there　all　night；　not　speaking；　totally　divorced　from　every　human　relationship　they　had　known。
　　
　　He　glanced　sideways　at　Jane。　Maybe　he　ought　to　make　some　coffee。
　　
　　'Where's　Sarah？'…the　thought　suddenly　came　to　him。　He　remembered　his　daughter's　admission　that　she　had　terminated　her　affair　with　Houston。　Without　him　she　had　no　reason　to　stay　out　late。　Of　course；　there　were　other　men　。　。　。
　　
　　'Upstairs　in　bed。　She　went　straight　up　when　she　came　in　from　work；　or　maybe　you　didn't　notice。'
　　
　　Bitterness。　He　did　not　reply。　Sarah　would　be　upset　at　the　break…up　with　Houston。　Coyle　wondered　whether　he　should　go　up　and　check　if　she　was　all　right。　He　decided　against　it。　She　would　be　in　total　ignorance　of　the　threat　they　afi　faced。　No　point　in　telling　her　now…she　could　use　all　the　sleep　she　could　get。
　　
　　Finally；　he　got　up　and　made　some　coffee；　strong　and　black。　Jane　drank　hers　in　silence。
　　
　　Everywhere；　right　now；　Coyle　realised；　people　would　be　making　coffee。　Beds　would　be　ignored。　A　long　night　lay　ahead　for　the　nation；　sustained　by　alcohol；　coffee；　and　tobacco　whilst　their　brains　reluctantly　accepted　the　situation。
　　
　　Saturday　morning　dawned　cold　and　grey。　The　mist　was　thicker　than　the　Met。　Office　had　forecast…and　slower　to　clear。　The　surrounding　mountains　were　invisible　as　Kent　made　his　way　along　the　deserted　streets　towards　the　Herald　offices。　Coyle　had　given　him　a　key；　but　he　had　no　idea　what　he　was　going　to　do　there。　No　point　in　ringing　London　again　yet。　Perhaps　towards　midday　he　would　try　and　get　hold　of　Dyne；　attempt　to　discover　how　fast　the　radioactivity　level　was　rising；　and　then　make　another　report。
　　
　　The　newsagent's　stall　on　the　corner　of　the　Square　was　not　open　yet。　That　angered　him。　A　world　crisis；　but　one　had　to　wait　until　normal　opening　time　to　read　about　it。　He　had　half　expected　to　see　crowds　on　the　streets；　people　loading　their　precious　belongings　into　their　cars　in　an　attempt　to　put　even　a　couple　of　hundred　miles　between　themselves　and　this　impending　doom。
　　
　　He　was　almost　at　his　destination　when　he　heard　the　rumble　of　heavy　vehicles。　The　pavement　beneath　him　vibrated　slightly。
　　
　　The　leading　vehicle　rounded　the　corner…an　armoured　truck。　Another。　Three　。　。　。　four　。　。　。　five　。。。　he　counted　ten　in　all　as　they　passed　him　slowly　and　came　to　a　halt　in　the　Square。　Soldiers　began　disembarking。
　　
　　Kent　stood　in　the　doorway　of　the　Herald；　automatically　stuffing　tobacco　into　the　bowl　of　his　pipe；　his　keen　eyes　missing　nothing。　He　noted　how　the　heavy　vehicles　were　parked　in　a　line　that　pletely　blocked　the　road　running　through　the　centre　of　the　valley；　perfectly　positioned　from　kerb　to　kerb。
　　
　　The　soldiers　moved　with　quiet　efficiency…no　bawled　orders　from　a　senior　NCO。　Each　man　knew　what　was　expected　of　him；　each　carried　a　slung　rifle。　Kent　wondered　if　the　bullets　were　rubber。　He　noted；　too；　the　riot　shields　being　unloaded；　and　the　open　crate　on　the　tailboard　of　the　centre　vehicle。　Tear　gas！
　　
　　Soldiers　stood　around　the　vehicles；　wary；　not　lounging。　Steel　helmets；　too。　Not　a　beret　to　be　seen。　A　couple　of　officers　wore　battledress　and　peaked　hats。　They　merely　watched　the　proceedings；　all　so　thorough　in　every　aspect。
　　
　　Kent's　eyes　wandered　up　towards　the　still　invisible　mountain　peaks。　Possibly　the　southern　ones　would　remain　shrouded　hi　mist　throughout　the　day。　He　knew　the　army　would　be　there；　too；　blocking　the　pass…the　road　that　led　down　through　Moniaive　towards　Dumfries。　He　admired　their　sheer　efficiency。　He　had　seen　it　before；　on　his　several　trips　to　Belfast。　The　army　just　moved　in；　nothing　spectacular；　but　one　knew　they　were　ready　for　any　eventuality。　This　platoon　had　probably　e　direct　from　Edinburgh；　their　orders　issued　prior　to　the　Prime　Minister's　speech　last　night。　A　nocturnal　military　takeover。　This；　the　dawn　squad；　would　have　been　the　last　to　arrive。　Nobody　would　be　entering　or　leaving　the　valley！
　　
　　He　let　himself　into　the　building；　fully　aware　that　the　soldiers　were　watching　his　every　move　until　the　door　closed　behind　him。　They　were　not　concerned　with　what　he　did　inside。
　　
　　Contrary　to　his　earlier　plans；　he　picked　up　the　telephone；　as　an　experiment。　He　guessed　what　would　happen；　and　he　was　correct。　No　sooner　had　his　forefinger　dialled　the　first　two　digits；　01；　than　the　disengaged　signal　was　sounding；　a　perpetual　monotone。　munications　had　been　suspended。
　　
　　Kent　sat　down　hi　the　swivel　chair；　and　relit　his　pipe；　then　reached　in　the　cupboard　for　the　whisky　bottle。　His　recent　promise　to　Coyle　to　remain　here　until　the　end　was　now　an　enforced　one。
　　
　　McLellan　had　sat　in　a　daze　throughout　the　hours　of　darkness。　His　wife　Edith；　a　small　frail　woman；　was　virtually　in　a　state　of　collapse　after　the　broadcast；　and　having　helped　her　upstairs　to　bed；　he　had　e　downstairs　again。　By　3。a。m。　the　ashtray　was　full　of　chewed　cigar　butts；　and　the　atmosphere　in　this　spacious　room　was　thicker　even　than　the　rolling　mist　outside。
　　
　　His　first　fear　was　of　dying。　He　would　never　forget　the　sight　of　those　dead　pigeons　and　the　Alsatian　in　the　Square。　Yet；　until　this　massive　conurbation　had　claimed　the　valley；　he　had　looked　forward　eagerly　to　the　weekly　grouse…shoots。　That　was　a　form　of　death　that　had　pleased　him；　elated　him　when　a　dead　grouse　rolled　on　the　sparse　heather；　a　measure　of　his　skill。　It　had　put　him　amongst　the　landed　gentry。　It　was　pursuit　of　this　sport　that　had　resulted　in　his　first　meeting　with　McLoughlin。　He　remembered；　word　for　word；　those　two　letters　he　had　typed。　McLoughlin's　tender　for　the　new　estate　would　be　granted；　McLellan　would　see　to　that。　Would　have　seen　to　it！　He　chewed　angrily　on　yet　another　cigar。　The　houses　would　not　be　built　now。　Nobody　would　need　them。　Those　already　erected　would　be　blown　up　with　the　rest　of　the　valley；　the　whole　country。
　　
　　A　movement　hi　the　corner　of　the　room　caught　his　eye。　A　sudden　stiffening　of　his　corpulent　body；　a　tensing　of　every　nerve。　He　saw　that　Alsatian　again；　skulking　in　the　alleyway；　scavenging　the　diseased　pigeons；　the　way　it　had　regarded　him　steadily　as　if　to　say；　'You're　going　to　die；　just　like　me！'
　　
　　Then　he　relaxed　again；　with　a　sigh　of　relief。　The　yellow　Labrador；　ageing　now；　moved　out　from　its　resting　place；　and　came　towards　him。　It；　too；　remembered　those　glorious　days　amidst　the　heather；　the　dead　birds　waiting　to　be　retrieved。
　　
　　McLellan　stroked　the　smooth　head；　something　to　occupy　his　restless；　flabby　hand。　He　would　have　had　the　dog　put　down　after　the　grouse　moor　had　been　built　over；　if　it　hadn't　been　for　Edith。　She　loved　this　dog　a　lot　more　than　she　loved　him。　It　was　funny；　he　hadn't　petted　the　animal　for　ages。　Perhaps　all　this　business　had　something　to　do　with　it；　a　kind　of　reconciliation。
　　
　　His　thoughts　moved　to　the　gun　in　the　hall　wardrobe。　A　Purdey；　worth　at　least　a　couple　of　grand；　a　sign　of　affluence　at　any　shooting　party。　There　were　cartridges；　too。　Maybe　half　a　box。　One　shell　would　be　sufficient。　So　easy。　He　could　opt　out　of　this　waiting　game；　settle　for　death　and　have　done　with　it。
　　
　　He　half　rose；　but　flopped　back　in　the　chair。　He　tried　to　find　excuses　why　he　would　not　go　through　with　it。　The　radioactive　level　might　fall；　life　would　revert　to　normal；　McLoughlin's　tender　would　be　accepted；　and　McLellan　would　get　his　pay…off。　All　in　hard　cash；　as　agreed。　Perhaps　he　would　move　out；　leave　Edith　here　in　this　place　with　her　beloved　dog。　She　wouldn't　object。
　　
　　Another　cigar。　More　melancholy　thoughts　again。　Everything　closing　in　upon　him。　Something　in　the　Prime　Minister's　speech　came　back　to　him：　'Animal　and　bird　life　is　apparently　more　vulnerable　to　radioactivity　than　are　humans'。　He　sat　bolt　upright；　gripping　the　upholstered　arms　of　the　plush　chair。　Damn　it；　those　grey　squirrels　that　infested　the　garden　every　morning！　Surely　the　squirrels　would　be　affected；　too。　And　he　could　stop　them。　Something　to　do。　He　had　to　take　it　out　on　someone　or　something。　One　small　shred　of　satisfaction　before　。　。　。
　　
　　He　struggled　out　of　the　chair　and　lumbered　into　the　hall；　listening　for　a　momen