gns.theplutopact-第40节

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　　'Please　do。'　Coyle　experienced　a　sudden　unburdening　of　responsibilities　which　he　knew　he　had　previously　shirked。　It　made　him　feel　a　lot　easier。　'How's　Sarah？'
　　
　　'Still　asleep　when　I　came　out。　She'll　be　OK。'
　　
　　Their　conversation　was　drowned　by　the　drone　of　a　low…flying　helicopter。　They　listened　to　its　progress；　the　noise　fading　slightly；　then　shutting　off　altogether。
　　
　　'Sounds　like　it's　landed　at　the　nuclear　station；'　Coyle's　eyebrows　were　raised。　No　helicopter　had　entered　the　valley；　not　even　a　military　air　patrol；　since　the　army　had　moved　in；
　　
　　'Must　be　somebody　visiting　Dyne　and　his　friends；'　Kent　suggested。　'Some　VIP　e　to　see　for　himself。　Judging　from　the　mass　meetings　in　town　last　night　it　won't　be　long　before　the　crowds　try　to　storm　the　station。'
　　
　　'Suicidal。'
　　
　　'Everything's　suicidal　these　days。'
　　
　　'By　the　way。'　Coyle　felt　suddenly　foolish。　Everything　seemed　so　different；　so　realistic　since　dawn　had　blended　into　full　daylight　and　swept　away　the　nocturnal　terrors。　'Something　silly；　but　。　。　。　well；　you　know　my　feelings　concerning　the　ancient　curse。　Maybe　you'll　think　my　mind's　snapped　under　the　pressure；　but　I　believe　Balzur　has　e　back　somehow　。　。　。　in　the　person　of　Winston　Dyne！'
　　
　　Kent　pursed　his　lips；　then　he　nodded　slowly。　'I've　e　across　stranger　things。　When　I　was　out　in　Uganda　doing　some　stories　on　Amin's　atrocities；　I　met　up　with　things　that　I　didn't　dare　write　about　for　fear　I'd　be　laughed　out　of　Fleet　Street。　e　on；　Bob；　let's　hear　your　theory。'
　　
　　Briefly　Coyle　related　the　dream；　and　when　he　had　finished；　Kent　was　silent；　stuffing　tobacco　into　the　bowl　of　his　pipe。　His　rugged　features　were　grim。
　　
　　'It's　up　to　us　to　stop　him；'　he　spoke　in　matter…of…fact　tones。　'You　and　me；　Bob。　As　simple　as　that。　It's　no　good　trying　to　convince　anybody　else；　there　isn't　time　anyway。　But　we'll　have　to　play　our　cards　carefully　because　we　won't　get　a　second　chance。　My　guess　is　the　devil　will　invite　us　up　there　again　today；　another　load　of　PR　shit。　Then　we'll　have　to　play　it　by　ear。'
　　
　　It　was　1。30p。m。　The　three　of　them　had　eaten　sandwiches　in　the　office　rather　than　go　into　town；　where　the　storm…clouds　of　rioting　were　gathering。　Shouting　and　chanting　reached　their　ears；　and　they　guessed　that　the　Square　was　packed　to　capacity。　Kent　wondered　just　how　long　it　would　be　before　the　storm　finally　broke。　Not　just　yet；　he　hoped；　because　he　needed　time。
　　
　　At　1。40　p。m。　Dyne　telephoned。　Kent　and　Coyle　were　both　invited　to　attend　a　crisis　meeting　at　the　reprocessing　centre　in　an　hour's　time。　Dyne　sounded　harassed。　Carefully　chosen　words；　too；　as　though　there　were　others　in　his　office；　men　of　higher　authority　than　himself。
　　
　　'We'll　be　there；'　Coyle　replied；　replacing　the　receiver。
　　
　　'A　gathering　of　chieftains；'　Kent　muttered。　'We'll　be　right　in　the　heart　of　the　action。　I　guess　my　name　will　be　mud　in　the　Cheshire　Cheese…if　I　ever　get　back　to　Fleet　Street。　But　this　is　it；　Bob。　Our　big　chance。　Let's　hope　we　don't　fall　down　on　it！'
　　
　　They　travelled　in　the　Mercedes。　Passing　through　the　initial　checkpoint　was　a　mere　formality；　but　Coyle　was　surprised　to　note　that　the　guard　in　the　outer　sentry…box　was　Loader　himself。　Why　had　the　Atomic　Energy　Authority's　private　police　chief　taken　such　a　menial　task　upon　himself？　Certainly　not　because　of　a　shortage　of　security　forces；　Army　reinforcements　were　also　in　evidence；　and　obviously　the　military　now　considered　defence　of　the　nuclear　station　of　greater　importance　than　attempting　to　quell　the　unrest　in　the　town　itself。
　　
　　'Funny　about　Loader　being　there；'　Coyle　mused　as　they　drove　slowly　towards　the　second　checkpoint。
　　
　　'Perhaps　he　needed　some　fresh　air；'　Kent　dismissed　the　affair　as　one　of　minor　importance。　He　had　briefly　summed　up　the　man　during　the　inspection　of　their　green　pass…cards。　Mean；　with　a　killer　instinct…shoot　first　and　ask　questions　later。
　　
　　The　routine　guard　had　been　no　less　surprised　when　Loader　had　suddenly　transferred　him　to　duties　within　the　pound。　There　had　to　be　a　reason；　but　he　wasn't　paid　to　think…just　obey。
　　
　　The　usual　escort　down　the　maze　of　corridors；　this　time　into　the　core　of　the　main　building。　They　took　an　elevator；　and　alighted　at　the　fourth　floor。　Then　into　a　small　room　with　three　walls　of　floor…to…ceiling　windows。　The　whole　extent　of　'Holocaust'　lay　spread　out　below　them…the　'pyramid　trap'　towering　like　a　monument　to　death　and　destruction。　Section　Eight…the　bomb　that　could　wipe　out　civilisation！
　　
　　Tyler　gave　them　a　nod；　but　there　was　no　sign　of　Winston　Dyne。　It　was　strange；　indeed；　that　the　big　man　himself　was　missing。　A　couple　of　vacant　chairs　were　placed　in　readiness　for　them。　A　dozen　other　men　occupied　seats　at　the　long　table。　Kent　recognised　Canverdale　at　once。　Also；　Stafford　and　some　resident　boffins。　There　were　three　others　who　looked　like　governmental　men；　probably　Canverdale's　private　staff。　AEA　police　were　noticeable　by　their　absence。　This　was　no　press　conference；　so　no　trouble　was　envisaged。
　　
　　Canverdale　spoke　first。　A　brief　summary　of　recent　events。　The　USSR　airliners　would　be　landing　at　all　major　airports　tomorrow　afternoon。　He　fully　believed　that　they　had　no　intention　of　taking　off　again。　In　other　words；　it　was　an　advance　invasion　force。　Parachutists　would　drop　into　the　valley；　with　a　rearguard　to　back　them　up　on　Manquhill　Moor。　The　USAF　intended　to　beat　them　to　it。　There　could　only　be　one　oute。　Tonight　the　nation　would　be　told。　He；　Canverdale；　would　broadcast　from　this　very　room　at　8p。m。
　　
　　Coyle　and　Kent　looked　grimly　at　each　other。　They　had　never　envisaged　such　a　turn　of　events…not　at　such　short　notice；　anyway。　But　time　was　running　out　for　everybody。　It　really　made　very　little　difference　to　the　British；　anyway。　The　rest　of　the　world　would　suffer　in　due　course。　Both　men　spared　a　thought　for　their　women。　Just　one　more　night　。　。　。
　　
　　Tyler　was　on　his　feet　the　moment　Canverdale　sat　down。　The　representative　of　Britain's　Hazardous　Materials　Group　produced　a　sheaf　of　blueprints　from　a　manilla　folder；　and　spread　them　out　on　the　table　before　him。　plicated　diagrams　and　figures　meaningless　to　almost　everyone　else　in　that　room。
　　
　　Tyler　had　not　slept　in　forty…eight　hours。　Twice　he　swayed　slightly　on　his　feet；　gripping　the　table　for　support。　Two　whole　days　of　rapid　calculations…the　early　stages　proved；　the　latter　still　theory。　Three　floors　below；　in　one　of　the　many　laboratories；　skilled　technicians　were　working　frenziedly　on　a　copy　of　these　final　plans。　Constructing　two　radioactive　solidifying　instruments；　no　larger　in　size　than　the　average　chest…style　deep…freeze。
　　
　　'The　Solidifiers　will　be　pleted　within　two　hours；　gentlemen。'　A　note　of　triumph　penetrated　the　weariness　of　his　normally　slow　semi…American　drawl。　'We　cannot　afford　to　wait　a　second　longer　than　pletion。　These　must　be　put　into　operation　right　away；　even　whilst　reprocessing　and　waste　disposal　is　being　carried　out　in　Section　Eight。'
　　
　　'But　there　have　been　no　experiments。'　Stafford　interrupted。　'The　machines　might　not　work。'
　　
　　'In　which　case　we　shall　be　no　worse　off　than　we　are　at　this　very　moment；'　Tyler　snapped　irritably。　'Our　only　hope　of　checking　the　rise　in　radioactivity　is　to　solidify　it　and　dispose　of　it　as　it　escapes。　I　myself　will　join　a　team　of　three　men…wearing　the　same　protective　clothing　as　the　labour　force。　We　hope　to　mence　work　at　5。p。m。　We　shall　not　know　the　results　for　twelve　hours。　I　would　advise　you；　Prime　Minister；　to　delay　your　broadcast　for　a　few　more　hours。　We　are　playing　our　last　card；　win　or　lose。　Let's　hope　that　it's　an　ace　。　。　。　'
　　
　　An　internal　telephone　buzzed；　interrupting　him。　Stafford　answered　it。
　　
　　'Thank　you。'　He　replaced　the　receiver；　and　mustered　all　the　dignity　which　his　state　of　exhaustion　would　allow。　'A　report　from　Section　Eight。　The　pressure　gauge　has　jumped　a　further　two　degrees。　Tomorrow；　gentlemen；　is　D…Day！　It　could　even　be　sooner　if　there's　another　rise！'
　　
　　Canverdale　gasped　inwardly。　'My　broadcast　must　go　ahead　as　previously　scheduled；'　he　said。　'May　God　grant　you　success；　Mr　Tyler。'
　　
　　Tyler　nodded；　folded　his　blueprints；　and　hurried　from　the　room。　His　men　would　be　spurred　to　even　greater　efforts。
　　
　　'You　may　remain　here　if　you　wish；　gentlemen；'　Stafford　addressed　the　journalists；　knowing　full　well　that　they　would。　'We　have　canteen　facilities　should　you　require　them。'
　　
　　'One　thing。'　Kent　was　on　his　feet。　'Where's　Dyne？'
　　
　　Stafford　seemed　taken　aback　by　the　suddenness　of　the　question；　or　the　lack　of　respect　shown　for　his　chief　by　this　upstart　journalist。　When　he　replied　there　was　a　note　of　reprimand　in　his　voice。　'Mr　Dyne　is　temporarily　confined　to　his　quarters。　A　migraine　headache　brought　on　by　long　hours　without　sleep。　A　short　rest　and　doubtless　he　will　be　back　in　charge。'
　　
　　Kent　glanced　down　at　Coyle　and　both　of　them　knew　the　time　of　the　apocalypse　was　speeding　up。　Unless　something　drastic　happened　quickly；　tomorrow　would　never　dawn。　Somehow　they　had　to　locate　Winston　Dyne。
　　
　　At　5。25　p。m。　Tyler　and　his　assistants　wheeled　their　bulky　radioactivity…solidifying　machines