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ough precious few days were left。 Intuition or not； he wanted to hear those words from her own lips： 'You've given me a baby； Bob。'
The ringing of the telephone caused them to disengage with reluctance。
'Who the hell can be ringing the office on a Sunday morning？' he muttered； picking up the receiver； and perching on the edge of the desk； stark naked。
'Coyle speaking。'
'Rollason here。 I tried to get you at home but your wife said you didn't e in last night。 Getting a special edition out？' A hint of sarcasm？
'No； I just had 。 。 。 things to catch up on。'
'I wondered if you were going to bring out a 。。。 a final edition of the Herald。'
'You're being pessimistic； Rollason。 It may not happen。'
'That's something we won't know until it either does or doesn't。 Anyway； I just wanted to ask you to play it down as much as possible。 A personal favour。 You must be fully aware of what's happening outside； throughout the rest of the country。 I'm worried about when it's going to start here； so I'd appreciate it if you didn't dig up any more legends。'
'The military seem to be pretty well in control。'
Too much。 People are resenting it； particularly the younger generation。 They might try and organise a mass exit from the valley； or else storm the reprocessing centre。 Either way it'll mean bloodshed。 The army will open fire。 A few warning shots first； but after that
'It's a possibility；' Coyle admitted。
'A probability； I'd say。 By the way； have you heard about McLellan？'
'No。'
'All this must have sent him round the twist。 He slaughtered some grey squirrels in his garden； then shot his dog。 His wife had already taken an overdose of sleeping tablets。 So he shot himself。'
'I see。' Coyle did not experience one twinge of regret。 'There'll be a lot of suicides before this business is concluded…people who'd sooner get it over and done with。'
Coyle wished he could hang up。 Anne was being impatient； now stroking herself with her fingertips； so that Coyle could watch her every movement。 Coyle dropped his free hand to his lower regions。 Anne smiled。
Then they heard a key turning in the outer door。
'I'll have to ring off；' Coyle spoke quickly。 'Someone's just arrived。'
He replaced the receiver。
'Be with you in a minute；' he called out； struggling with a shirt and slacks； as Anne dressed with haste also。 Who the hell could it be？ The printers' foreman？ Ross？ Not on a Sunday； surely。
They heard the rasping of a match； then the aroma of sweet…smelling pipe tobacco crept under the door and their nostrils twitched with relief。 Of course…it was Kent。
'You can e in。'
The London journalist looked like someone who had enjoyed a good night's sleep。 He seemed perfectly relaxed； as always； smoke curling lazily from the pipe between his teeth。 His eyes noted the crumpled sleeping bags； but dismissed them。
Tm sorry'…a genuine apology…'if I'd thought 。。。'
'You couldn't be expected to。' Coyle no longer resented the intrusion。
'Just the need to be up and about。 I find hotels claustrophobic； particularly on Sundays。'
'Anne will make some coffee。' She was already filling the kettle。 'There are some biscuits somewhere。'
I've already breakfasted； thanks； but don't let me stop you。'
Three cups of coffee； a tin of biscuits which nobody seemed interested in； Coyle seated in the swivel…chair； Anne reclining on the inflated mattress； Kent leaning with his back against the wall。 One of many conferences taking place all over the world right now； on the universal subject；
'Rollason just rang me；' Coyle said。 'Said his main concern was rioting starting here in the valley。 He's got a point。'
'I passed the church on my way down；' Kent spoke softly。 'Never seen anything like it。 I've seen folks queuing at cinemas for top billings； at Wembley for Cup Finals。 Beats me why a place this size has only one church。'
'They never filled it before；' Coyle replied。 'It was adequate in the old days。 The regulars were a few devout parishioners。 The town mushroomed； but the newers had no use for religion。 Old Mortimer had the cushiest job in the valley。 Visited the aged and sick； free meals wherever he chose to get 'em 。 。 。 '
'Well； he's working bloody harder now than he's ever done in his life before； I'll warrant。' Kent placed his pipe in the ashtray； and picked up his cup。 'Not only is the church bursting at the seams； but they're packing the churchyard outside。 munion。 There'll never be enough bread or wine to go round unless he can conjure up some miracle akin to the feeding of the five thousand。 All types…youngsters； too。 The kind who'll pray today and riot tomorrow。 Still； I suppose it gives the authorities a breathing space。'
'I'll be in church myself on Tuesday。' Coyle failed to keep the huskiness out of his voice。 'A memorial service 。 。 。 my boy。 I was hoping it would just be a small； private affair。'
'Maybe the army could keep the crowds out for you；' Kent said。 'Just for half an hour。 But we don't know what the situation will be by then。'
'I'd better be getting home。' Anne rose to her feet。 'Sunday lunch is a sort of ritual there； always has been； ever since I was a kid。 Mum and Dad aren't happy if I'm not there。 I'd like to make this one something special for them； It could be the last one ever。'
She donned her coat and moved towards the door； then turned。 Her gaze moved from the sleeping…bag to Coyle。 Her eyes asked a question。 Coyle nodded。 They would both return here tonight； no matter what。
The two men listened to her footsteps receding across the outer office； the gentle closing of the door。
'Any plans for today？' Coyle asked at length。
'Not really。 Nothing much I can do for the moment； except hang around and await developments like everybody else。 Maybe I'll take a stroll around the town。'
'I'll e with you。'
Together they stepped out into the street。 The mist was clearing more quickly today； the towering mountain peaks were silhouetted against the skyline through the thinning haze。 Later on it would probably be warm and sunny。 Another bonus for those maintaining law and order。 Inclement weather is always an inducement to depression。
Neither spoke as they crossed the deserted Square。 A couple of pigeons flew from the head of Robert Burns's statue and alighted on one of the upper parapets of the town…hall； The two birds cooed softly and contentedly。 The drifting cloud of radioactivity had passed on。 Coyle wondered if it had crossed the range of mountains； how far it had travelled； and in which direction。 It had to go somewhere。
This speculation was interrupted by the sound of voices…hundreds of them。 Low incantations； not in unison； the words inprehensible； unceasing。
'The church congregation；' Kent told him。 He looked at his watch。 'Ten…thirty。 munion started at eight。 Still going strong； or maybe they've gone straight on to matins。' Somehow the voices seemed to draw their footsteps。 Coyle found himself turning right at the end of the Square。 Kent had intended to bypass the crowd this time； but instead he followed his panion's route。 It was strange。 Two self…confessed atheists； but still they headed towards the church。 Both told themselves that it was just curiosity。 A few minutes later they saw the massed congregation…men； women； and children； temporarily united in worship。 No； that was the wrong term； Coyle decided。 None of them worshipped anything outside their own little lives。 It was a gathering of people seeking to allay the terror which hung over them。 Clutching at age…old beliefs； just as their ancestors had done in Balzur's day。 Maybe； elsewhere； others were delving into the occult。 God or the devil； they would sell themselves to whichever they thought might save them。 They had turned their fear…crazed minds back centuries； resorted to the old ways。 A terrible realisation； this was all part of the Curse…a subtle surrender to the Left Hand Path！ Not one of them realised it； but subconsciously they were making a pact； willing to trade their souls for an extended period of life。
Coyle and Kent stood and watched from the opposite pavement； looking across the low wall surrounding the churchyard。
Coyle had no difficulty in recognising the figure of the Reverend James Mortimer moving with difficulty amongst the crowds； who were kneeling with heads bowed； oblivious of the dew…soaked grass of the churchyard。 The vicar's long black cassock was creased as he moved from person to person； chalice in one hand； gold plate in the other。 The server； a youth in his early teens wearing a soiled surplice； hampered by a large carton carried in his free hand。 Additional supplies of wine and bread。
Mortimer's voice carried to the two spectators； above the incessant murmurings。 'In the name of the Father； the Son； the Holy Ghost 。 。 。 this is my Body 。 。 。 take 。。。 eat 。 ； 。 this is my Blood 。