gns.theplutopact-第7部分

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　　'Sorry；　I　was　miles　away；'　he　swung　his　feet　to　the　floor；　and　she　advanced　on　him；　perching　delicately　on　his　knee；　one　arm　around　his　neck；　the　fingers　of　the　other　starting　to　caress　his　hardness　almost　immediately。
　　
　　'I　trust　you　were　thinking　about　me。'　Her　eyebrows　were　raised　mockingly。
　　
　　'I　was；'　he　admitted　truthfully。　'I　was　just　thinking　about　how　it　all　happened；　how　we　got　together　。　。　。　and　how　you've　been　transformed　from　a　sweet　little　innocent　teenager　into　the　most　beautiful；　sexually　desirable　woman　imaginable。'
　　
　　'And　your　journalistic　training　enables　you　to　put　it　all　so　delightfully　into　words；'　she　continued　to　stroke　him。　'That's　something　which　an　awful　lot　of　women　miss　out　on。　You　haven't　forgotten　we're　going　out　tomorrow　night？'
　　
　　'I　can　hardly　wait。'
　　
　　'Perhaps　your　wife　will　oblige　you　tonight。'
　　
　　'I　shan't　ask　her。'
　　
　　'Oh；　by　the　way；　Winston　Dyne　rang　while　you　were　out。　He　was　a　bit　shirty。　He　didn't　like　your　article　in　last　week's　edition；　the　reference　to　the　Balzur　legend　and　the　link　between　Pluto　and　plutonium。　He　says　you're　playing　on　sensationalism　which　could　have　a　detrimental　psychological　effect　on　the　people　of　this　town。　He　wants　to　see　you；　so　I've　arranged　for　you　to　be　up　there　at　ten　in　the　morning。'
　　
　　'Darling；'　Coyle　craned　his　neck　up　so　that　their　lips　brushed。　'You　are　Britain's　number…one　secretary；　most　definitely。　Twice　over　the　past　few　months　I　have　been　refused　an　interview　with　Dyne。　Barbed　wire；　armed　guards；　and　Christ　knows　what　else；　and　now　I'm　actually　going　inside　the　devil's　stronghold　itself。　And　it　took　you　to　fix　it。'
　　
　　'He's　having　your　pass　delivered　here　later　today；'　she　purred。　'My　Bob's　making　quite　a　name　for　himself；　isn't　he？　Even　the　Boffins　are　sitting　up　and　taking　notice　of　him。'
　　
　　Trying　to　shut　me　up；　you　mean；'　he　laughed；　and　stiffened　as　he　felt　his　zip　being　slowly　pulled　down。　'We'd　better　lock　the　door；'　he　signed。
　　
　　
　　　Chapter　3
　　
　　Coyle　experienced　an　acute　sense　of　uneasiness　as　he　eased　his　foot　off　the　Avenger's　accelerator　some　twenty　yards　from　the　huge　twenty…foot…high　steel…barred　barrier。　An　elevated　enclosed　platform　was　strategically　positioned　above　the　entrance　to　the　nuclear　waste　disposal　and　recycling　centre。　He　noticed　a　face　behind　a　small　aperture；　eyes　that　watched　him　unwaveringly。　Without　a　doubt　the　man　was　holding　a　rifle；　possibly　a　submachine…gun；　with　his　thumb　positioned　on　the　safety…catch。
　　
　　The　Avenger　rolled　forward　until　it　was　barely　five　yards　from　the　checkpoint。　A　sentry…box　stood　to　the　right；　outside　the　barbed…wire　fencing。
　　
　　Coyle　wound　the　window　down　and　held　up　the　green　card　so　that　it　was　visible　to　the　man　on　checkpoint。　The　newspaperman　cursed　beneath　his　breath；　more　to　boost　his　own　morale　than　from　anger。　All　part　of　the　process；　he　decided。　Another　Berlin　Wall。　Playing　on　my　nerves…or　trying　to。　He　pitied　the　workers　who　had　to　pass　to　and　fro　daily。　Just　like　a　Siberian　labour　camp。
　　
　　Perhaps　both　these　guys　watching　him　from　their　sentry　positions　had　read　his　article　in　last　week's　Herald。　Maybe　Dyne　had　had　it　distributed　amongst　the　men。　'This　is　the　guy　who　is　starting　all　the　rumours；　using　a　legend　to　help　cause　mass　hysteria。　Give　him　the　treatment。　One　visit；　and　he　won't　want　to　e　back　again'。　No；　that　wasn't　right。　It　would　all　get　in　the　paper；　and　that　wouldn't　be　good　publicity。
　　
　　Nevertheless；　nobody　was　in　a　hurry。　Coyle　lit　a　cigarette；　carefully　and　deliberately；　nonchalantly　tossing　the　spent　match　in　the　direction　of　the　lower　checkpoint。　He　was　genuinely　angry　now；　and　felt　like　sounding　his　horn；　or　calling　out　'Hey　you！'　Instead　he　flicked　cigarette　ash　into　the　wind；　and　wished　that　a　spark　would　hit　this　gateway　dictator　in　the　eye。
　　
　　At　last　the　man　advanced　slowly　towards　him。　He　was　heavily　built；　a　tightly…buttoned　uniform　holding　back　rolls　of　fat。　Slav　features；　too；　or　was　that　his　imagination？　Just　plain　flat…faced　and　ugly。　He　carried　a　revolver　in　a　holster；　the　flap…type　which　prevented　a　fast　draw。　Coyle　guessed　that　in　the　event　of　trouble；　the　upper　man　would　do　the　shooting。
　　
　　The　guard　held　out　his　hand　for　the　pass。　Co》le　handed　it　over；　intending　to　meet　his　gaze；　but　the　other　seemed　interested　only　in　the　writing　on　the　thin　card。　He　certainly　took　his　time　over　it；　and　Coyle　considered　perhaps　the　fellow　was　illiterate；　but　again　decided　it　was　all　part　of　the　demoralising　process。　Neither　spoke；　and　there　was　no　need　to。　Everything　was　written　on　that　pass。　Name。　Date。　Reason　for　visit。　Time　of　admittance　。　。　。　The　big　man　glanced　at　his　watch。　The　card　stated　9。55。a。m。　It　was　now　9。50。　He　handed　the　card　back；　and　returned　to　his　post　without　a　word。　Everything　had　been　conducted　in　total　silence。　Not　even　a　grunt。
　　
　　Coyle　revved　up　his　engine；　expecting　the　gates　to　open　automatically。　Nothing　happened。　He　was　on　the　point　of　attracting　the　man's　attention　again；　when　he　noticed　the　hands　of　his　wristwatch：　9。54　a。m。
　　
　　At　9。55　the　gates　swung　back　smoothly；　and　he　drove　slowly　through。　A　black　tarmac　track　headed　directly　across　the　red　shale　pound　towards　the　giant　towers；　with　5　mph　speed…limit　signs　spaced　at　intervals　of　a　hundred　yards。　Several　hundred　cars　were　parked　diagonally　to　his　right；　obviously　belonging　to　the　local　labour…force。　He　kept　going　until　he　reached　the　second　barrier。
　　
　　Here　the　uniformed　Atomic　Energy　Authority　policeman　almost　smiled。　Almost。　Coyle　had　the　impression　that　the　man　nearly　forgot　his　orders；　and　then　remembered　them　just　in　time。　Again　the　revolver　was　worn　in　a　covered　holster；　but　the　flap　was　undone。
　　
　　The　man　took　the　green　card；　read　it　through　minutely；　and　then　pointed　in　the　direction　of　a　squat；　one…storied　building　standing　on　its　own　beside　what　were　obviously　offices　and　laboratories。
　　
　　'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。
　　
　　The