gns.theplutopact-第40部分

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s　if　she　solicited　on　the　streets。　Damn　her；　he　was　well　rid　of　her；　but　his　eager　sexual　appetite　was　already　crying　out　for　another　woman。　He　could　have　taken　Margaret；　of　course；　but　he　dismissed　the　thought。　Too　easy。　Too　familiar。　He　craved　for　a　woman　who　would　excite　him　with　unexpected　techniques；　one　who　would　take　the　initiative。　He　knew　a　woman　who　would　fill　his　purpose；　though　he　had　not　visited　her　for　six　months。　He　had　no　doubts　he　would　be　wele；　but　there　was　one　serious　snag：　the　military！　The　girl　in　question　lived　in　Dumfries。　And　the　fucking　army　was　trapping　him　and　his　incessant　lust　in　this　bloody　valley！
　　
　　He　thought　a　lot　about　it　in　bed　on　that　Sunday　night。　At　one　stage　he　was　almost　tempted　to　pull　his　wife　towards　him　and　take　her。　On　Monday　his　mind　was　made　up。　He　formulated　his　plans　carefully　throughout　the　day。　The　pass　was　blocked；　there　was　no　chance　there。　There　was　a　cordon　around　the　moors　beyond　the　surrounding　mountains；　but　how　effective　was　it？　Probably　soldiers　stationed　at　intervals；　crouched　down　in　the　springy　heather　for　warmth　during　the　cold　nocturnal　hours。　They　did　not　know　the　moors　like　David　Houston　did。　The　old　sheep…track　up　to　harrow　Peak；　treacherous　if　one　was　not　familiar　with　the　climb；　a　long　crawl　across　the　Manquhill　Moor。　Past　the　sentries；　then　less　than　half　a　mile　to　the　road　down　to　Moniaive。　He　would　follow　it；　keeping　to　the　edges；　diving　into　the　undergrowth　at　the　approach　of　every　vehicle。　Three　miles　to　Moniaive。　He　knew　he　could　pick　up　a　car　there。　Donald　would　lend　him　his；　he　would　understand。　The　army　wouldn't　bother　barricading　the　roads　into　Dumfries。　They　would　be　too　concerned　with　patrolling　the　Solway　shores；　to　prevent　people　leaving　the　country　in　small　boats。
　　
　　With　luck　he　could　be　in　Dumfries　by　eleven　o'clock。　In　bed　with　this　free…and…easy　wench　by　midnight。　And；　of　course；　he　would　not　be　ing　back。　Nobody　in　their　right　mind　would　return　to　this　valley　of　death；　once　they　had　escaped　from　it。
　　
　　He　left　the　house　at　nine　o'clock　on　the　Monday　night。　Margaret's　hopes　fell；　but　rose　again　when　she　realised　he　had　not　taken　the　car。
　　
　　Once　clear　of　the　sprawling　suburbs；　David　Houston　moved　stealthily。　The　moon　would　not　be　up　for　another　couple　of　hours　and　by　then　it　would　not　matter。　His　keen　eyes　quickly　grew　accustomed　to　the　darkness；　picking　out　any　obstacles　in　his　path。　Several　times　he　stumbled；　catching　his　foot　in　an　unseen　rabbit　hole。　Then　the　ground　began　to　rise；　being　steeper　with　every　step。　He　was　now　on　the　narrow　sheep…track　leading　up　to　Cornharrow　Peak。
　　
　　The　most　difficult　part。　Twenty　yards　or　so；　one　slip　。　。　。　He　tried　to　push　from　his　mind　that　accident　two　or　three　years　ago。　A　couple　of　hikers…both　had　gone　over；　the　one　who　slipped　grabbing　at　the　other　and　taking　him　too。　Houston　held　his　breath。　He　felt　the　pounding　of　his　heart；　a　brief　spell　of　vertigo。　Then　the　path　widened；　levelled　out；　and　the　springy　heather　of　Manquhill　Moor　was　beneath　his　feet。
　　
　　He　breathed　a　long　sigh　of　relief。　He　needed　a　smoke；　but　it　was　too　risky。　All　around　him　a　black　void。　No　need　even　to　crawl。　Just　tread　warily。
　　
　　Jubilation！　It　had　e　off。　He　had　beaten　them。　They　were　too　busy　turning　back　cars　at　the　pass。
　　
　　But　he　had　overlooked　one　factor；　a　scientific　innovation…infra…red　lenses　on　telescopic　rifle…sights！　Realisation　came　to　him　in　the　vicious　whine　of　an　M1　Carbine　bullet；　passing　a　foot　above　his　head。　The　sharp　report　followed　a　tenth　of　a　second　later。
　　
　　He　remained　standing；　the　idea　of　flinging　himself　headlong　into　the　heather　never　even　occurred　to　him。　He　stood　in　total　surprise　as　footsteps　approached。　One　man；　not　even　using　a　torch。　Damn　the　fucking　army！
　　
　　'Stay　where　you　are；　mate。　That　one　was　intended　to　miss。　The　next　won't！'
　　
　　Just　a　vague　shape；　denser　than　the　enveloping　darkness。　Houston　did　not　move。　The　voice　was　young：　just　a　kid；　not　too　old　to　have　his　arse　tanned。　Except　for　that　rifle。　Houston　wondered　if　there　were　others　with　him。　Sure　to　be…but　how　close？
　　
　　'Back　the　way　you　came；　mate。　And　don't　hang　about！'
　　
　　He　could　not　think　of　a　suitable　reply…not　even　curses。　He　had　made　the　attempt　and　failed。　Now　he　had　to　go　back。
　　
　　'Move！'
　　
　　The　mand　had　more　than　just　a　ring　of　authority　about　it。　Power！　After　hours　of　boredom　the　soldier　would　probably　delight　in　shooting　again。
　　
　　Houston　contemplated　the　return　trip　along　that　eighteen…inch…wide　sheep…track；　with　an　almost　sheer　drop　on　the　one　side　for　almost　twenty　yards。
　　
　　'Are　you　going；　or　ain't　you？'
　　
　　A　metallic　click。　He　turned　slowly　away。　A　finger　rested　on　that　trigger；　all　the　more　dangerous　because　it　belonged　to　a　raw　recruit。
　　
　　Margaret　Houston　did　not　speak　as　her　husband　came　into　the　bedroom　and　began　to　undress；　without　switching　on　the　light。　He　was　earlier　than　usual；　but　he　had　been　out　tonight。　Just　when　she　thought　that　it　was　all　over。　She　couldn't　hold　back　the　sobs　as　he　slid　into　bed　alongside　her。
　　
　　Tuesday。　The　church　was　cold；　the　primitive　heating　off。　Too　spacious　for　just　four　people。　Three　of　them　in　the　front　pew：　Coyle；　Jane；　and　Sarah。　The　Reverend　James　Mortimer　stood　on　the　altar　steps。　His　voice　was　low；　and　at　times　the　three　could　not　discern　his　words。
　　
　　No　tears；　those　had　all　been　shed。　Coyle　felt　the　absence　of　a　coffin　made　a　mockery　of　it　all。　The　two　women　wished　the　vicar　would　get　it　over　quickly　so　that　they　could　return　home。　No　longer　did　this　place　have　an　aura　of　a　sanctuary。　So　much　had　changed　since　Sunday。　It　was　more　like　a　tomb。　As　was　this　whole　valley…and　the　living　just　waiting　to　be　buried。　Balzur's　curse　was　now　a　grim　reality。
　　
　　The　minister's　voice　droned　on。　The　clamouring　of　the　crowd　outside　was　louder　now；　penetrating　the　almost　empty　building。　They　resented　the　army　cordoning　them　off　from　their　God。　Some　were　threatening　to　rush　the　line　of　soldiers。
　　
　　Coyle　sighed　with　frustration；　and　risked　a　surreptitious　glance　at　his　watch。　No　more　than　five　minutes；　surely。　Then　they　could　go；　and　the　masses　would　fill　the　pews　once　more。　They　would　not　notice　the　cold　as　they　huddled　together；　united　in　a　mon　cause；　prayer　overshadowed　by　terror。　A　last　plea　for　deliverance。
　　
　　Outside　the　soldiers　had　unslung　their　rifles；　a　demonstration　of　military　authority　which　the　O。C。　hoped　would　be　sufficient。　The　bullets　were　no　longer　rubber。
　　
　　'Let　us　through！'
　　
　　'You　can't　keep　us　out　of　the　church。'
　　
　　'For　God's　sake；　what　next？'
　　
　　A　man　had　pushed　his　way　through　the　milling　crowd；　his　face　white　and　strained。　He　wore　an　old…fashioned　mackintosh　reaching　below　his　knees。　He　came　to　a　halt　barely　five　yards　away　from　the　muzzle　of　the　nearest　rifle。　It　was　David　Houston！
　　
　　'Get　back！'
　　
　　'I'm　a　relative。'
　　
　　'The　service　will　be　over　in　a　few　minutes。'
　　
　　'Couldn't　get　through　the　crowds。　Let　me　go　in；　just　for　the　end。　Please！'
　　
　　The　soldier　glanced　sideways　at　his　manding　officer；　the　barrel　of　his　rifle　unwavering。　The　latter　sighed；　nodded　reluctantly。　Houston　walked　forward　through　the　line　of　soldiers；　hastening　towards　the　rotting　wooden　porch　of　the　church。　They　had　not　even　asked　for　proof　of　his　identity。
　　
　　His　nerve　was　almost　at　breaking　point…sheer　desperation；　blind　vengeance　swamping　all　reason。　Nothing　else　mattered；　there　was　nothing　else　to　live　for。　He　clutched　at　something　beneath　the　raincoat。　It　weighed　the　garment　down　on　the　one　side；　but　nobody　noticed。
　　
　　Everything　now　depended　upon　the　gun　which　bulged　in　Houston's　pocket。　His　long　dead　father's　favourite　poaching　weapon；　a　single…barrelled　。410　folding　shotgun。　Less　than　three　hours　ago　it　had　undergone　a　few　improvisations…carried　out　with　a　hacksaw。　The　skeleton　wire　stock　had　been　removed；　leaving　only　the　pistol…grip。　The　barrel　had　been　reduced　in　length；　cut　down　to　five　inches　just　above　the　chamber。　The　range　and　penetration　had　gone　along　with　the　choke。　All　that　remained　was　a　scatter…p