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ing through the rest of his loins。 Maybe it was a different type of pox。
He would head south！ The thought came to him in an instant。 The petrol tank of the Norton was almost full…enough to get him to London； maybe。 He'd been there once before。 Guys and girls slept rough。 Nobody bothered them。 They queued up at the VD clinics。 Nobody would give him a second glance。 That also went for most of the major cities： Manchester； Birmingham； and such。
'I stayed in this fucking place one day too long。' He did not look back as he let himself out。 'Should've moved out months ago。'
He winced； almost cried out aloud； as his genitals came in contact with the saddle。 Burning； blinding pain seemed to be eating away his lower regions； as if they were being consumed by fire 。 。 。
He kicked the starter； it fired first time。 Swaying precariously； mainly because one eye was now totally sightless； he hunched over the handlebars； and roared off into the early autumnal night。 The journey south had begun。
Chapter 6
'Richard didn't e in at all last night。 His bed hasn't been slept in。' Bob Coyle barely glanced up from the morning issue of the Sun； and replied with his mouth full of toast： 'So what？ He's old enough。 Sleeping rough probably。'
'More likely with that whore。'
'Well； I'm not going down to the police station to list him as a missing person。 He'll e home when he runs out of money and gets hungry。 Kids his age are doing the same all over the country。'
'And meanwhile； you'll pursue this obsession of yours about the world being blown up because some ancient wizard put a curse on Craiglowrie。 Fathers all over the country aren't taking that tine； thank God。'
'That's just the trouble with the British。' He pushed his empty plate away； stood up； and reached for his coat。 He wanted to be out of the house before Sarah came down。 One bickering woman was enough at that time of the morning。'
'Going out early aren't you？' There was resentment in Jane's voice； a hint of suspicion； too。
'I've a lot to do today。'
'Which means you'll be late home。'
'Yes； I'm afraid so。' He averted his eyes from her searching gaze。 'Don't fix anything for me。 I'll eat out tonight 。 。 。 if I get time。'
'Sometimes I almost think it would be better if you had another woman；' she snapped。 'At least it'd make you more human。 Work； work； work。 And by the way； this boyfriend of Sarah's who keeps on lavishing all these clothes and things on her…why doesn't she bring him home？ We don't even know his surname。 Just David。 What are his intentions？'
'Why don't you ask him？'
'How the hell can I； when I don't know who he is。 I reckon he's a married man。 Maybe Mrs Bean will have heard something。'
'The town's prophet of doom；' Coyle called back as he went out the door； hastening at the sound of Sarah's footsteps on the landing above。 'You'll never hear glad tidings from that source。'
The printers and typesetters were surprised to see Coyle arrive so early。 He nodded to them as he passed through the workshops； and flung himself into the battered old chair in his tiny office。 Anne would not be here for another three…quarters of an hour。 God； how he needed her； just her pany。 He pulled the much depleted bottle of whisky from the cupboard； and poured some of it into the unwashed glass。 He needed time to think。 It was too early to make any phone…calls。
Something had definitely gone wrong up at Holocaust。 Maybe it was just a repetition of what happened to Wind…scale's pilot oxide plant in 1973。 That meant contamination； however slight。 He wished Sarah didn't work up there。 Christ； there were obstacles at every turn。
Anne arrived promptly at nine； in time to catch him draining the last of the whisky from the glass。
'My God！' There was concern on her face。 'You look bad； Bob。 Domestic or 。 。 。 '
'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 m