gns.theplutopact-第19章

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　　'Both；'　he　sighed。　'Something's　definitely　gone　wrong　up　at　the　new　plant。　I'm　afraid　it's　going　to　be　one　helluva　day；　today；　one　way　or　another。'
　　
　　'Ajid　it's　still　going　to　be　one　helluva　night　tonight。'　She　leaned　over　him；　kissing　him。　'God；　I　wish　we　were　both　away　from　here。　Just　the　two　of　us。　Anywhere。　Away　from　it　all。'
　　
　　'That　may　be　the　answer；'　he　replied；　staring　unseeing　at　the　wall　in　front　of　him；　'but　only　for　us。'
　　
　　But　she　knew　that　Bob　Coyle　would　never　break　and　run。　He　would　stay　and　fight；　whatever　the　odds；　until　the　bitter　end…victory　or　defeat。
　　
　　At　10。15　a。m。　Coyle　tried　to　phone　Dyne。　The　telephonist　at　the　other　end　asked　him　to　hold。　At　10。30；　when　she　requested　him　to　hold　again；　he　replaced　the　receiver。　His　next　call　was　in　quest　of　Stafford；　representative　of　British　Nuclear　Fuels。　The　same　number；　just　a　different　extension。　The　same　telephonist。　'Please　hold。'　But　a　couple　of　minutes　later　he　was　through　to　Stafford。
　　
　　'A　technical　hitch。'　There　was　a　hesitancy　about　the　other's　tone　which　was　in　contrast　to　the　man's　character。　'I've　got　the　reports　here　on　my　desk；　but　I　haven't　had　a　chance　to　go　through　them　yet。　I've　been　away　on　a　couple　of　days　leave。　Look；　Coyle；　if　there's　anything　in　them　that　might　present　a　local　or　national　threat；　I'D　phone　you　back。　OK？'
　　
　　Coyle　was　used　to　promises　to　ring　back。　On　average　twenty…five　per　cent　of　such　calls　materialised。　He　knew　this　one　would　not；　simply　because　there　would　not　be　anything　of　a　hazardous　nature　in　those　reports。
　　
　　He　tried　Tyler；　representative　of　Britain's　Hazardous　Materials　Group。　He　got　through　almost　immediately。
　　
　　'Of　course；　we　can't　give　any　details　at　this　stage；'　the　answer　came　just　too　smoothly　for　Coyle's　satisfaction。　'The　lay…off　is　merely　precautionary。　In　fact；　it　is　doubtful　if　anything　is　amiss　at　all。　Until　a　thorough　investigation　has　been　pleted；　we　cannot　ment。　Naturally；　we　wouldn't　conceal　anything　of　a　hazardous　nature。　However；　in　all　probability　this　is　something　entirely　technical　which　will　not　be　a　breach　of　security　at　all；　a　purely　internal　business。'
　　
　　Back　to　square　one。　Coyle　slammed　the　receiver　down。　The　patient　has　just　undergone　a　critical　operation；　and　a　well…meaning　relative　has　been　fobbed　off　with　hints　of　a　grumbling　appendix。
　　
　　He　tried　Kent　next。　But　it　was　2。30　p。m。　before　the　controversial　journalist　returned　from　a　liquid　lunch　at　the　Cheshire　Cheese。　Coyle；　himself；　had　not　yet　eaten；　and　the　whisky　bottle　now　reposed　empty　in　the　wastepaper…basket。　Since　its　disposal　Anne　had　been　plying　him　constantly　with　cups　of　black　coffee。
　　
　　'You　should　have　stayed　on　Fleet　Street；'　Kent's　speech　was　slightly　slurred。'　Life　hums　constantly　around　one　。　。　。'
　　
　　'It's　humming　here；　too。'　Coyle　came　to　the　point。　'Did　you　know　that　they've　closed　down　part　of　the　new　nuclear　disposal　plant？　Purely　technical；　I'm　told；　no　need　for　concern　。　。　。　'
　　
　　'The　devil　they　have！'　Kent's　speech　lost　its　slur；　and　Coyle　could　visualise　the　old　gleam　in　those　grey　eyes；　the　tightening　of　the　mouth。　'Smells　fishy　to　me。　No　doubt　you've　made　some　enquiries？'
　　
　　Tried　to；'　Coyle　replied。　'The　usual　negative　answers　one　expects　when　dealing　with　officialdom…particularly　at　this　level。　Of　course　the　unions　have　bined　to　restrict　my　own　personal　views　being　expressed　in　the　Herald。'
　　
　　'Fuck　the　unions。'　Kent　was　always　conveniently　forgetting　to　pay　his　subscription。　'Tell　you　what；　there's　nothing　to　hold　me　here　at　present。　I'll　drive　up　through　the　night；　and　see　you　tomorrow　morning。'
　　
　　Coyle　replaced　the　receiver　with　mingled　relief　and　apprehension。　Relief　that　Kent　might　be　going　to　throw　a　few　spanners　into　Dyne's　reprocessing　works。　Apprehension　that　。　。　。　well；　the　London　journalist　had　an　uncanny　nose　for　trouble。　In　the　past；　when　they　had　worked　together；　there　had　been　so　many　reports　that　had　seemed　scarcely　worth　the　trouble　of　investigating；　yet　the　little　Fleet　Street　man　had　unearthed　veritable　。　。　。　holocausts！
　　
　　Linda　Lakin's　body　was　discovered　at　approximately　three　o'clock　that　same　afternoon；　in　effect；　shortly　after　Coyle　had　finished　speaking　to　Kent。　It　was　4。10　p。m。　when　the　police　visited　the　premises　of　the　Herald；　a　plain…clothes　Chief　Superintendent　acpanied　by　two　CID　officers。
　　
　　Coyle　was　well　acquainted　with　all　three　of　them。　Rollason；　the　Superintendent；　rarely　smiled；　possibly　on　account　of　the　eternal　cigarette　which　smouldered　between　his　thick　lips；　depositing　ash　at　intervals　down　his　worn　brown　waistcoat。　He　had　small　eyes　buried　beneath　fleshy　sockets；　which　rarely　disclosed　his　innermost　feelings。
　　
　　McLane；　the　inspector；　was　not　so　stolid　as　his　superior；　his　clean…cut　features　an　admirable　advertisement　for　some　brand　of　after…shave。　He　was　a　man　destined　to　climb　to　the　heights　of　his　chosen　profession；　and　he　would　be　ruthless　in　that　quest。
　　
　　Sergeant　Conniston　stood　respectfully　behind　them。　Retirement　was　his　goal　in　life　now；　and　his　toothbrush　moustache　was　reminiscent　of　an　era　when　local　policemen　manded　the　respect　of　the　entire　munity。　That；　too；　had　gone。
　　
　　A　mixed　bunch；　Coyle　decided。　The　Superintendent's　expression　conveyed　that　he　had　a　matter　of　a　confidential　nature　to　discuss。　Coyle　nodded　to　Anne。　She　understood；　smiled　and　withdrew；　closing　the　door　behind　her。
　　
　　It　was　cramped　in　the　tiny　office；　and　there　were　not　sufficient　chairs　available。　Coyle　pushed　a　sheaf　of　papers　aside。
　　
　　'And　what　can　I　do　for　you；　gentlemen？'
　　
　　'Your　boy；'　Rollason　came　straight　to　the　point。　'Any　idea　where　he　is？　He's　not　at　work；　nor　home。　We　checked　。　。　。　'
　　
　　The　ringing　of　the　telephone　interrupted　them。　Coyle　lifted　the　receiver。　Anne's　voice　came　over　the　internal　line；　'Your　wife　wants　to　speak　to　you。'
　　
　　Tell　her　I'll　call　her　back。'
　　
　　'I've　already　told　her　that。　She　says　it's　urgent；　and　she　refuses　to　ring　off。'
　　
　　'Oh；　all　right。　Put　her　through。'　He　placed　a　hand　over　the　mouthpiece。　'Excuse　me；　it's　my　wife。　I　won't　keep　you　a　minute。'
　　
　　'Bob。'　Jane's　voice　had　more　than　a　ring　of　urgency　to　it。　She　was　on　the　verge　of　panic。　'It's　about　Richard。　The　police　have　been　here　looking　for　him。'
　　
　　Coyle　gave　no　hint…either　in　his　voice　or　in　his　expression…of　his　true　feelings；　the　jarring　of　his　nerves；　the　sensation　of　nausea　as　his　stomach　churned。
　　
　　'I　know。　They're　here　now。　Just　arrived。'
　　
　　'What's　happened？'
　　
　　'I　don't　know。　Haven't　had　a　chance　to　speak　to　them　yet。'
　　
　　'Something's　terribly　wrong；　I　know　it。　The　police　wouldn't　say
　　
　　'Look；　I'll　ring　you　back。'　He　cut　her　off　abruptly　by　replacing　the　receiver。
　　
　　'Well？'　he　looked　at　Rollason。　'Suppose　you　tell　me　what　it's　all　about。'
　　
　　'Does　the　name　Linda　Lakin　mean　anything　to　you？'　the　Superintendent　lit　a　fresh　cigarette　with　the　butt　of　the　old　one　before　crushing　it　in　the　ashtray。
　　
　　'Yes。'　Coyle's　uneasiness　escalated。　'A　girl　my　son　used　to　knock　about　with。　I've　never　met　her。　He　never　brought　his　girlfriends　home。'
　　
　　'Well；　she's　dead。　Beaten　up…one　hell　of　a　mess。　And　your　lad's　gone　missing。　My　men　are　going　over　the　scene　of　the　murder　now；　and　already　there's　ample　evidence　that　he　was　there　recently。　What　we　want　to　know　is　where　he　is　now？　We've　circulated　his　motor…cycle　registration　number　to　all　patrol　cars。'
　　
　　'My　God！'　Coyle　buried　his　face　in　his　hands。　It　all　came　back　to　him…the　quarrel；　the　blow。　Already　he　was　blaming　himself。　Finally；　he　looked　up；　his　plexion　ashen。　'I　only　wish　you'd　e　here　to　me　first。　I've　no　idea　where　my　son　is　right　now。'
　　
　　'We　followed　a　methodical　line　of　enquiries。'
　　
　　Silence。　Three　men　totally　unmoved。　And　the　fourth　。。。　a　few　minutes　ago　he　was　challenging　single…handed　the　rights　of　a　nation　to　risk　the　lives　of　its　entire　population。　Now　he　was　just　an　ordinary　father；　shattered；　dazed；　everything　else　forgotten。
　　
　　'We'll　probably　want　to　speak　to　you