gns.theplutopact-第45部分
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l 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 into the pyramid of de
