gns.theplutopact-第7节

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　　'Park　over　there；　sir。　The　man　on　duty　will　escort　you　to　the　HOR's　office。'
　　
　　Coyle　did　as　directed。　The　uniformed　officer　inside　the　glass　doors　watched　him　closely　as　he　climbed　out　of　his　car；　and　with　a　touch　of　irony　Coyle　carefully　locked　the　Avenger　and　pocketed　the　keys。　Two　can　play　at　this　security　game；　he　grinned　to　himself；　as　he　ground　out　the　cigarette　with　his　heel。
　　
　　Again　a　silent　escort。　Down　one　corridor；　past　numerous　doors；　a　left　turn；　then　a　right；　then　another　left。　All　the　time　Coyle　was　conscious　of　buzzing　activity；　a　murmuring　of　voices；　whirring　machinery；　but　not　once　did　he　sight　another　human　being。　There　was　a　hushed　reverence　within　the　place　such　as　one　might　find　within　a　cathedral。　He　glanced　at　the　man　by　his　side；　but　he　was　staring　straight　ahead　without　expression。
　　
　　They　halted；　and　the　policeman　knocked　softly　upon　the　door　immediately　before　them。　From　a　highly　polished　plaque　Coyle　noted　what　the　initials　HOR　stood　for：　'Head　of　Oxide　Reprocessing…Winston　Dyne。'
　　
　　'e　in。'
　　
　　Coyle　stepped　forward　on　to　a　lush　carpet；　the　door　closed　behind　him；　and　he　was　face　to　face　with　Winston　Dyne　for　the　first　time。
　　
　　The　man　behind　the　large　mahogany　desk　was　reclining　in　a　plush；　tall…backed　chair；　and　he　made　no　effort　to　rise　or　extend　the　customary　hand。　Coyle　was　instantly　reminded　of　the　times　he　had　been　summoned　before　the　headmaster　of　his　school；　for　a　sharp　'six　of　the　best'。　You　stood　meekly　with　your　hands　clasped　behind　your　back；　repentance　and　fear　in　your　expression。　With　an　effort　he　pulled　himself　together。　He　had　hated　every　minute　of　that　public…school　life　for　which　his　parents　had　made　stupid　sacrifices。　The　system　was　the　same　here。　'e　and　have　your　arse　walloped；　you　naughty　boy；　and　promise　faithfully　that　you　will　not　err　again。'　Not　bloody　likely。
　　
　　Coyle　relaxed。　'Mind　if　I　take　a　seat？'　He　reached　out　and　drew　a　three…legged；　plastic…covered　chair　towards　him。　'My　feet　are　hurting　like　hell　after　that　route…march　down　your　maze　of　corridors。'
　　
　　'Sit　down。'　The　authoritative　tone　in　Dyne's　voice　made　it　an　order　rather　than　an　invitation。
　　
　　They　regarded　each　other　steadily　for　half　a　minute　of　silence。　Dyne　was　stroking　his　heavy　moustache；　his　aquiline　features　never　once　giving　a　hint　of　his　innermost　thoughts。
　　
　　'I　read　that　article　in　the　latest　edition　of　your　trashy　weekly。'　he　said　at　last；　the　annoyance　unveiled。　'I　would　term　it　sensational　libellousness；　the　object　being　to　instil　fear　into　the　townspeople　and　to　disrupt　something　which　is　vital　to　the　economy　of　this　country。　Your　reference　to　the　legend　of　Craiglowrie　is　preposterous；　and　many　of　your　facts　are　totally　inaccurate。'
　　
　　'Sue　me　then。'
　　
　　'It　would　not　be　worthwhile。　Your　bankruptcy　would　hardly　benefit　the　Plutonium　Economy。　If　I　had　my　way；　Coyle；　every　known　munist　would　be　deported　back　to　the　country　where　his　sympathies　lie。　Your　place　is　in　the　salt…mines　of　Siberia；　along　with　a　good　many　other　traitors。　Today　the　value　of　the　pound　dropped　again。　Overseas　confidence　is　waning　faster　than　ever　before；　and　even　the　oil　flowing　from　the　North　Sea　seems　incapable　of　restoring　it。　Plutonium　is　Britain's　last　hope…our　very　last　hope。　Extracts　from　your　article　appeared　in　certain　national　dailies。　I　would　even　assume　you　personally　sent　them　the　copy。　You　are　a　saboteur；　Coyle；　and　I　wish　you　could　be　arrested　and　put　on　trial　as　such。'
　　
　　'And　since　I　can't；'　Coyle　smiled；　'just　how　do　you　intend　to　shut　me　up？　Have　me　murdered　inside　this　place　and　dispose　of　my　body　in　a　bath　of　sulphuric　acid？'
　　
　　A　flicker　of　unease　appeared　in　Dyne's　expression；　but　was　instantly　replaced　by　a　wan　smile。
　　
　　'You　could　make　your　fortune　writing　science…fiction　thrillers；　Coyle；'　he　said。　'And　your　energy　and　talents　would　be　far　better　spent　in　that　field。　However；　my　motive　in　summoning　you　。　。　。　'
　　
　　Inviting　me；'　Coyle　interrupted。
　　
　　'As　you　wish；'　Dyne's　features　hardened。　'My　motive　is　to　explain　to　you　the　whole　process　of　the　disposal　and　recycling　of　nuclear　waste。　The　plete　facts　will　be　put　before　you；　and　you　may　take　notes　if　you　wish。　It　is　my　hope　that　the　lead　article　in　the　next　edition　of　your　newspaper　will　convey　the　true　facts　to　the　public；　and　thereby　dispel　any　alarm　you　have　generated　by　the　balderdash　already　printed。　And　another　thing；　neither　myself　nor　my　colleagues　appreciate　the　nickname　you　have　given　to　this　place。　It　seems　to　have　caught　on；　as　nicknames　so　very　often　do…and　was　even　mentioned　on　the　national　news　on　both　television　channels　last　night。　Holocaust　is　a　word　that　sums　up　unholy　terror；　fire；　wholesale　death　and　destruction…and　is　therefore　entirely　inappropriate　here。　This　is　an　entirely　civilised　concern。'
　　
　　'Judging　by　the　way　your　guards　received　me　at　both　checkpoints；　I'm　not　so　sure　about　that　。　。　。　'
　　
　　'Let's　dispense　with　this　flippancy。'　With　supreme　effort　Dyne　controlled　his　rising　anger。　'Now；　firstly　I'd　like　to　explain　to　you　the　reprocessing　of　spent　nuclear　fuel　in　power…stations　such　as　this。　There　is　no　doubt　that　plutonium　is　the　fuel　of　the　future；　and　as　such　we　have　no　right　to　ignore　its　potential。　Those　who　actually　work　on　it　are　in　plete　agreement。　There　have　been　dangers　in　the　past；　certainly；　but　we　are　fully　confident　that　these　have　now　been　overe。　Greater　national　prosperity　is　assured。　In　this　valley；　alone；　over　five　thousand　jobs　have　been　created；　and　in　a　few　years'　time　。　。　。　'
　　
　　'We　know　all　this　crap；'　Coyle　broke　in　harshly。　'We've　had　it　shoved　down　our　throats　since　they　first　started　to　build　this　place。　Just　give　me　the　true　scientific　facts　concerning　plutonium　and　oxide；　Dyne；　otherwise　I've　work　to　do　back　at　my　office。'
　　
　　'Very　well。　Most　of　the　basic　facts　have　been　revealed　on　television　or　in　the　newspapers；　many　inaccurately；　so　for　your　benefit　I　will　begin　with　the　elementary　stages。　This　nuclear　waste　disposal　and　recycling　centre　has　been　built　in　this　valley　because　a　twofold　purpose　can　be　served。　With　planning　permission　granted　for　an　extension　over　another　few　hundred　acres　。　。　。　It　will　be　opposed。'
　　
　　'That　is　not　my　concern；　and　please　do　not　interrupt。　At　Windscale　they　had　the　added　inconvenience　and　risk　of　transporting　low…level　waste　elsewhere　for　disposal。　Here；　with　the　additional　ground　which　we　have　acquired；　it　can　all　be　dealt　with　inside　the　centre。　A　pact　unit；　if　you　understand　me。　But　let　me　explain　the　functions　of　plutonium　to　you。　One　gram　of　plutonium　produces　as　much　electricity　as　three　tons　of　coal。　Imagine　the　labour　and　haulage　saving　。　。　。　'
　　
　　'And　the　closure　of　nine…tenths　of　the　collieries　in　the　United　Kingdom。　The　NUM　won't　like　that。'
　　
　　'As　we　are　all　aware'…Dyne　ignored　Coyle's　interruption…'plutonium　is　the　material　from　which　atom　bombs　are　made。　It　is　highly　radioactive；　and　should　you　inhale　it；　the　consequences　would　be　dire。　However；　safety　precautions　have　never　been　more　efficient。　British　Nuclear　Fuels　at　this　present　time　require　plutonium　for　the　prototype　reactor　at　Dounreay。　We；　here；　are　hi　the　final　stages　of　constructing　our　own　prototype　reactor。　Again；　you　see；　a　plete；　self…sufficient　unit。
　　
　　'The　first　plutonium　was　manufactured　here　a　paratively　short　time　ago。　I　witnessed　the　experiment　myself。　It　is　a　green…coloured　liquid；　and　currently　we　are　producing　a　number　of　kilograms　per　day。'　Dyne　carefully　avoided　quoting　figures　that　might　appear　in　either　Coyle's　paper　or　in　the　national　press。
　　
　　'Eventually　those　kilograms　will　bee　tons；　then　tens　of　tons；　when　we　are　finally　using　the　full　resources　at　our　disposal。　It　takes　less　than　ten　kilograms　to　make　an　atom　bomb；　a　device　that　would　be　little　greater　in　size　than　a　coconut。　World　figures　quote　something　like　three　thousand　tons　of　plutonium　in　existence。　Of　course；　we　shall　never　have　anything　like　that　quantity　here　。　。　。　'
　　
　　Coyle　almost　laughed　out　loud；　but　held　himself　in　check。
　　
　　'Plutonium　is　man…made；　produced　by　human　ingenuity。'　Dyne　leaned　back　in　his　chair；　smoothing　his　moustache　with　his　long　nicotine…stained　fingers；　the　beginnings　of　a　self…satisfied　smile　on　his　face。　Much　responsibility　had　been　placed　on　his　shoulders　lately。　Whenever　the　opportunity　arose　to　take　credit　for　something；　he　seized　it　eagerly。　Perhaps　this　newspaperman　might　see　the　light　and　give　him　a　personal　boost　in　his　columns。
　　
　　'That's　something　that　Nature；　in　all　her　greatness；　overlooked。'　Dyne　lit　a　cigarette；　without　offering　the　packet　to　the　man　seated　opposite　to　him。　'So　far　it　has　only　been　produced　for　the　bombs　and　rockets　in　our　nuclear　armoury；　and　it　can　be　argued　that　plutonium　has　ensured　our　safety　from　a　military　point　of　view。　Now　it　can　also　serve　our　national　energy　needs；　and　put　the　economy　back　on　a　sound　footing。　We　have　unlimited　potential　energy　at　our　disposal；　and　the　risks…which　the　press　constantly　exaggerates　for　the　man　in　the　street…are　but　a　small　consideration。　Plutonium　will　soon　be　used　to　power　nucl