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'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。
They regarded each other steadily for half a minute of silence。 Dyne was stroking his heavy moustache； his aquiline features never once giving a hint of his innermost thoughts。
'I read that article in the latest edition of your trashy weekly。' he said at last； the annoyance unveiled。 'I would term it sensational libellousness； the object being to instil fear into the townspeople and to disrupt something which is vital to the economy of this country。 Your reference to the legend of Craiglowrie is preposterous； and many of your facts are totally inaccurate。'
'Sue me then。'
'It would not be worthwhile。 Your bankruptcy would hardly benefit the Plutonium Economy。 If I had my way； Coyle； every known munist would be deported back to the country where his sympathies lie。 Your place is in the salt…mines of Siberia； along with a good many other traitors。 Today the value of the pound dropped again。 Overseas confidence is waning faster than ever before； and even the oil flowing from the North Sea seems incapable of restoring it。 Plutonium is Britain's last hope…our very last hope。 Extracts from your article appeared in certain national dailies。 I would even assume you personally sent them the copy。 You are a saboteur； Coyle； and I wish you could be arrested and put on trial as such。'
'And since I can't；' Coyle smiled； 'just how do you intend to shut me up？ Have me murdered inside this place and dispose of my body in a bath of sulphuric acid？'
A flicker of unease appeared in Dyne's expression； but was instantly replaced by a wan smile。
'You could make your fortune writing science…fiction thrillers； Coyle；' he said。 'And your energy and talents would be far better spent in that field。 However； my motive in summoning you 。 。 。 '
Inviting me；' Coyle interrupted。
'As you wish；' Dyne's features hardened。 'My motive is to explain to you the whole process of the disposal and recycling of nuclear waste。 The plete facts will be put before you； and you may take notes if you wish。 It is my hope that the lead article in the next edition of your newspaper will convey the true facts to the public； and thereby dispel any alarm you have generated by the balderdash already printed。 And another thing； neither myself nor my colleagues appreciate the nickname you have given to this place。 It seems to have caught on； as nicknames so very often do…and was even mentioned on the national news on both television channels last night。 Holocaust is a word that sums up unholy terror； fire； wholesale death and destruction…and is therefore entirely inappropriate here。 This is an entirely civilised concern。'
'Judging by the way your guards received me at both checkpoints； I'm not so sure about that 。 。 。 '
'Let's dispense with this flippancy。' With supreme effort Dyne controlled his rising anger。 'Now； firstly I'd like to explain to you the reprocessing of spent nuclear fuel in power…stations such as this。 There is no doubt that plutonium is the fuel of the future； and as such we have no right to ignore its potential。 Those who actually work on it are in plete agreement。 There have been dangers in the past； certainly； but we are fully confident that these have now been overe。 Greater national prosperity is assured。 In this valley； alone； over five thousand jobs have been created； and in a few years' time 。 。 。 '
'We know all this crap；' Coyle broke in harshly。 'We've had it shoved down our throats since they first started to build this place。 Just give me the true scientific facts concerning plutonium and oxide； Dyne； otherwise I've work to do back at my office。'
'Very well。 Most of the basic facts have been revealed on television or in the newspapers； many inaccurately； so for your benefit I will begin with the elementary stages。 This nuclear waste disposal and recycling centre has been built in this valley because a twofold purpose can be served。 With planning permission granted for an extension over another few hundred acres 。 。 。 It will be opposed。'
'That is not my concern； and please do not interrupt。 At Windscale they had the added inconvenience and risk of transporting low…level waste elsewhere for disposal。 Here； with the additional ground which we have acquired； it can all be dealt with inside the centre。 A pact unit； if you understand me。 But let me explain the functions of plutonium to you。 One gram of plutonium produces as much electricity as three tons of coal。 Imagine the labour and haulage saving 。 。 。 '
'And the closure of nine…tenths of the collieries in the United Kingdom。 The NUM won't like that。'
'As we are all aware'…Dyne ignored Coyle's interruption…'plutonium is the material from which atom bombs are made。 It is highly radioactive； and should you inhale it； the consequences would be dire。 However； safety precautions have never been more efficient。 British Nuclear Fuels at this present time require plutonium for the prototype reactor at Dounreay。 We； here； are hi the final stages of constructing our own prototype reactor。 Again； you see； a plete； self…sufficient unit。
'The first plutonium was manufactured here a paratively short time ago。 I witnessed the experiment myself。 It is a green…coloured liquid； and currently we are producing a number of kilograms per day。' Dyne carefully avoided quoting figures that might appear in either Coyle's paper or in the national press。
'Eventually those kilograms will bee tons； then tens of tons； when we are finally using the full resources at our disposal。 It takes less than ten kilograms to make an atom bomb； a device that would be little greater in size than a coconut。 World figures quote something like three thousand tons of plutonium in existence。 Of course； we shall never have anything like that quantity here 。 。 。 '
Coyle almost laughed out loud； but held himself in check。
'Plutonium is man…made； produced by human ingenuity。' Dyne leaned back in his chair； smoothing his moustache with his long nicotine…stained fingers； the beginnings of a self…satisfied smile on his face。 Much responsibility had been placed on his shoulders lately。 Whenever the opportunity arose to take credit for something； he seized it eagerly。 Perhaps this newspaperman might see the light and give him a personal boost in his columns。
'That's something that Nature； in all her greatness； overlooked。' Dyne lit a cigarette； without offering the packet to the man seated opposite to him。 'So far it has only been produced for the bombs and rockets in our nuclear armoury； and it can be argued that plutonium has ensured our safety from a military point of view。 Now it can also serve our national energy needs； and put the economy back on a sound footing。 We have unlimited potential energy at our disposal； and the risks…which the press constantly exaggerates for the man in the street…are but a small consideration。 Plutonium will soon be used to power nucl