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ngerous build…up of radioactivity which currently is only being contained。 Our only remedy at this moment is total reprocessing。 All nuclear waste contained in this station…now stored in Section Number Eight…must be reprocessed in the quickest possible time； and the blocks laid to rest in granite with a minimum escape of radiation。 All men previously laid off have now been recalled。 Twenty…four hours of non…stop work is in process in the hope 。 。 。 in the hope that a disaster may be averted！
'Only two alternatives are open to us。 We can either release this build…up of radiation and accept the terrible consequences； or face the possibility of a nuclear explosion； the like of which Mankind can never fully prehend。 Our gauges show a slow but steady rise in radioactive leakage within Section Eight。 It is a race against time； gentlemen。 Can we plete the reprocessing and thus avert a catastrophe？'
'How long have we got？' It was Kent who spoke； softly； but his voice carried to every corner of the room； which had suddenly bee unnaturally silent。 It was the question everybody wanted to ask； though fearing the answer。
'I don't honestly know；' Dyne replied slowly。 'That is something none of us knows。 Britain's Hazardous Materials Group； British Nuclear Fuels； and the Radiological Protection Board are all working in conjunction。 It is estimated that reprocessing could take up to ten days to plete； even with our much advanced systems。 But can we beat the rate of radioactive leakage and build…up？ None of us can answer that one。 The Prime Minister himself will inform the nation of the situation。 There will； of course； be an official State of Emergency right away。 People will panic； but we cannot hide the truth。 It will be impossible to evacuate the whole country 。 。 。 but the effects of such a disaster would reach wider than Britain itself。'
Coyle was now on his feet。 Questions hammered inside his brain； matters of national urgency。 Yet his parental instincts predominated。
'The bodies of the two men who died from radioactive contact。' His voice was unsteady； fighting to get the words out。 'Copeland and my own son 。 。 。 what will happen to 。。。 ？' He could not finish。
Dyne looked down at the table as he replied。
'Cremation 。。。 a total extermination of the whole body； including disposal of the ashes； is the only answer。 We 。 。 。 dared not contemplate anything else。'
'Dared not？'
'I'm afraid it was impossible for you to be informed before this press conference。 But there had to be no delay。 Everything 。 。 。 the two men 。 。 。 the women 。 。 。 the pigeons 。 。 。 the dog 。 。 。 They have all been cremated。'
Coyle felt his senses spinning； his vision blurred。 A fleeting； fiery flash in his memory： a face illuminated by flames； so very old 。 。 。 almost recognition 。 。 。 then it was gone as though shutters had closed to blank it out。 For a moment he thought that he was going to faint。 A firm hand pulled him back into his seat。 Kent knew that words would be superfluous。
'So that is the position； gentlemen；' Dyne's voice droned on。 He had said it all now； told them everything。 The barrage of questions was already beginning。 But there were no real answers。 No excuses…although there would be scapegoats。 Himself； mainly。 A country； a world； less than ten days away from potential annihilation； has little patience。
Questions and more questions； and still more。 Dyne was grateful to Stafford and Tyler for helping him out。 Eventually he glanced at his watch： 4。15。 He was already late for his appointment with the representative of the power…workers' union。 There could be no question of a walk…out by the labour force。 A State of Emergency would be officially declared within a matter of hours。 No negotiations。 Pay？ What the hell did pay matter？ The men would be forced to work under armed guards if necessary。 Tons of nuclear waste had to be mitted to its last resting place in the shortest possible time…and the end justified the means。
His sympathies lay with the Prime Minister。 In the event of the worst happening； he would have to make the decision。 Release the radioactivity or risk an explosion？ It was the sort of decision to be determined by a referendum； but there was no time to consult the country。 An hour； a minute might determine success or failure at the very end。 Coyle was aware of Kent leading him from the meeting。 Questions were still being asked； parried； partially answered。 It might go on for another hour。 Nothing further was to be gained by remaining。
A policeman escorted them to the Mercedes； and Kent drove back to the Herald offices。
Anne looked up from her typewriter as they entered。 She could tell from their expressions that something had gone drastically wrong。 Everybody in the town sensed it。 Those pigeons。 It wasn't natural。 At lunchtime fellow diners in the Wimpy Bar had talked of nothing else。 Pluto himself was bent on their destruction…with a curse more terrible than； even their primitive forefathers had dreamed of。 'I'll make some tea。' She moved towards the kettle。 'Strong and sweet。' Kent attempted to smile； pulled out his wallet； and dropped a ten…pound note on her desk。 'The whisky appears to have run dry 。 。 。 '
'Of course；' she picked it up and hurried outside。 It was quite obvious to her that Coyle was badly shaken。 She had never seen him quite that way before； and it hurt her。 Five minutes later she returned with the whisky and a tray of tea； and withdrew。 There are times when men need to be alone。
Kent swallowed a strong measure of whisky； and let his tea go cold whilst he telephoned his editor in London。 He talked for twenty minutes before he replaced the receiver。 He shook his head； trying to gather his thoughts。
'The Prime Minister will speak to the nation tonight；' Kent said。 'My story will be in the early morning editions； along with everyone else's。 By then the nation will know； and all hell will be let loose。 We're going to witness something which has hitherto only been the figment of fiction writers' imaginations。 I'll put a fiver on one thing； though。 A coalition government。'
'That figures。'
'And Canverdale for Prime Minister。'
'You reckon？'
'He's the best we've had since Winston Churchill。'
'Winnie had a flesh…and…blood enemy to fight； but this is different。 Nothing tangible。 Reminds me of something my dad once said about the danger of electricity： 〃You can't see it or hear it ing until it gets you〃。 This is the same。 If it blows； we'll probably never know a thing about it。'
'Canverdale's still our man。' Kent poured some more whisky for both of them。 'Maybe he's the one person who can keep the country calm 。 。 。 Bob； we're staring anarchy in the face。 God knows what's going to happen； but； whatever it is； it'll be breaking within a matter of hours。'
Coyle fell silent； thinking again of Richard。 They'd burned his boy's body in a furnace along with a vagrant； a couple of whores； some sacks full of pigeons； and a dead dog。 And he had to explain it all to Jane。 She would not understand but； all the same； he had to tell her。 There was Anne； too。 He wanted her to know about everything before the broadcasts started。
Kent seemed to read his mind。 'I'll leave you to it for the rest of the day。' He stood up； glancing at his watch。 It was 5。15。
'Going back to London？'
The other shook his head。 'Last place I want to be right now。 Somehow I don't fancy Fleet Street any more。 Maybe in ten days' time it won't exist at all。 Funny thought； no dailies…no one to read 'em。 I guess this is as good a place to die as any。'
'It used to be。' Coyle said bitterly。 They made it like this； Dyne and his boffins。 Used to be just heather； grouse and sheep。 Now these scientists are going to destroy it。 A dead world； just as an old wizard prophesied four hundred years ago。 The contamination will last a quarter of a million years。 I wonder if life will begin again then； and what form it'll take if it does。 Anyway； thanks a million； Kent。 Just having you around 。。。'
But Kent was gone。 Gratitude always embarrassed him。 He looked up at the sky as he walked slowly back to his hotel。 It was blue and cloudless； the surrounding mountains already hazy with the gathering autumnal mist。 An unexpected sadness engulfed him。 Somehow he had missed out on an awful lot of life。 And now time was running out。 Ten days； perhaps less。 The span of his life was now determined by the radioactivity rising within that single giant reactor known as Section Eight。
Anne listened in silence as Coyle talked。 She was not afraid； in some ways she was glad。 She wondered vaguely in whose arms her lover would decide to spend his last hours…hers or Jane's。
'We've a lot of living to do in just ten days；' she ventured when he had finished。
'We'll go out together。' The words she had hoped to hear。 'I shall have to tell Jane about Richard tonight。 She'll hate me even more after that。'
'Maybe I'll tell my parents about us； too。' She smiled。 'It