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n 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 would be nice to clear up all these lies and deceptions before 。 。 。 '
'That's up to you；' he said。
'And what about the Herald？'
'Not much point in bringing out another edition； is there？ I mean； everything will be in the dailies。 Nobody'll be interested in local news。 We could always print a mass obituary in advance！'
They both laughed。 Morbid； but anything that made light of the situation seemed funny。 Every minute； every second； was precious。
An embrace。 A lengthy one。 Those few nights apart had seemed an eternity。
'Tomorrow night； Bob？'
'I promise。'
He drove home slowly through the traffic； reluctant to reach his destination。 Any diversion would have been wele…a breakdown； a puncture。 But the old Avenger was determined to remain faithful to the very end。
Coyle was surprised to find another vehicle blocking his driveway： a ten…year…old Morris Minor； immaculately clean in spite of the corrosion on the sills。 He parked in the roadway。
The car was familiar； and he had decided upon its ownership before he stepped into the house。 The elderly male voice ing from the sitting…room confirmed his guess。 The local clergy had called in person： the Reverend James Mortimer。
Coyle took off his coat； and lingered over hanging it up in the hail wardrobe。 Mortimer and he were acquainted on business terms； mostly through the printing of church notices hi the Herald…obituaries； special services； and such。 That was where it ended； though。 Coyle had little time for organised religion。
Mortimer had a ruddy face that was just too cherubic to be true； a black homburg hat and knee…length overcoat； a long…stemmed black rustic briar pipe。 He smoked a strong…smelling Latakia mixture； much in contrast to Kent's sweet bonded flake。
The clergyman was seated in an armchair； still wearing the coat； hat on his lap； pipe between his teeth。 Jane sat opposite； wearing a charcoal…grey dress； and it was obvious that she had been crying for most of the day。
'Mr Coyle。' The Reverend Mortimer rose shakily； plump pink hand outstretched。 'My deepest sympathies in your tragic loss。 I came as soon as I heard。 I have spent the afternoon with your wife； and I trust that I've been of some fort to her during this terrible time。'
Jane's eyes met her husband's。 They narrowed； there was no forgiveness in them。 She did not speak。
'A very painful subject。' Mortimer resumed his seat； talking incessantly。 Bob wished the clergyman would leave； but a freshly poured cup of tea told him that would not happen for the next quarter of an hour。
'The funeral。' Mortimer struck a match and proceeded to relight his pipe。 'Your wife is in favour of cremation 。 。 。 '
'It's already been carried out；' Coyle broke in cruelly； recent events bringing about a desire to hurt Jane。 And if he offended the vicar as well 。 。 。 well； that couldn't be helped。 'Richard was cremated this morning 。 。 。 along with a couple of slags； a tramp； ninety…seven pigeons； and one Alsatian of doubtful pedigree。'
There was stunned silence； and Mortimer's pipe fell into his lap。 Jane just stared with disbelief； then contempt。 It was clearly a joke in very bad taste。
'You're very unkind and hurtful。' She restrained a whiplash of words； and held back the tears。 'We're arranging it with Mr Wain for next Tuesday…'
'Then forget it；' Coyle snapped。 'The bodies were radioactive。 There's been a leak up at 〃Holocaust〃…as will be described by the Prime Minister on television tonight。 I was at a press conference there this afternoon。 It's no longer an official secret。 Ten days； and we live or bust。 It's as simple as that。 They had to get rid of the dead bodies as quickly as possible。 It hurt me just as much as you； but there was no other way。 We must face up to facts。 There isn't much time left。'
Jane was being hysterical again。 The Reverend Mortimer moved quickly to her side； and a forting arm saved the situation； temporarily。
Coyle wished he could find some excuse to leave them to it。
'Your statement confirms rumours which have been circulating in town recently； Mr Coyle；' Coyle was surprised how philosophically Mortimer took the news。 Possibly it was easier at his advanced age。 'For five years； apart from christenings； weddings； and funerals； my congregation has barely exceeded three full pews。 Three weeks ago it began filling up； at munion； matins； and evensong。 Pleasing to some extent； but in my heart I knew the reason。 Fear。 A turning back to a forsaken God； repenting； praying for deliverance 。 。 。 deliverance from this hell which has sprung up in our very midst； our valley turned into Hades itself。 I noted your recent article on Balzur's pact with Pluto to destroy the people of Craiglowrie…a very old legend； referred to in some of the church archives； passed on by word of mouth down the generations。 I wish you hadn't printed it。 Old beliefs can be very frightening at times like these。 Of course； there's no truth in it。 Just an old fable。 Nevertheless； with people's nerves now stretched to breaking point； it could spread hysteria。 I beg of you not to print anything more about Balzur。' The ruddy cheeks had paled。
Coyle lit a cigarette。 He wished Mortimer would go away and leave them to it。 This was the end of his marriage to Jane； and he wanted to get it over with。 There would be no time for divorce proceedings。 What the hell did it matter； anyway？
'But we mustn't overlook the fate of your poor boy。' Satisfied that Jane was not going to break down； the vicar returned to his chair； and once more attempted to light his pipe。 'Of course； he was not responsible for his actions。 We must proceed with the memorial service； as arranged； Mrs Coyle。 Leave everything to me。 Tuesday； at 2。30 p。m。'
Coyle showed him to the door； but did not remain to see him reverse hesitantly out into the road。 He went straight back into the living…room。
Jan