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folder； and spread them out on the table before him。 plicated diagrams and figures meaningless to almost everyone else in that room。
Tyler had not slept in forty…eight hours。 Twice he swayed slightly on his feet； gripping the table for support。 Two whole days of rapid calculations…the early stages proved； the latter still theory。 Three floors below； in one of the many laboratories； skilled technicians were working frenziedly on a copy of these final plans。 Constructing two radioactive solidifying instruments； no larger in size than the average chest…style deep…freeze。
'The Solidifiers will be pleted within two hours； gentlemen。' A note of triumph penetrated the weariness of his normally slow semi…American drawl。 'We cannot afford to wait a second longer than pletion。 These must be put into operation right away； even whilst reprocessing and waste disposal is being carried out in Section Eight。'
'But there have been no experiments。' Stafford interrupted。 'The machines might not work。'
'In which case we shall be no worse off than we are at this very moment；' Tyler snapped irritably。 'Our only hope of checking the rise in radioactivity is to solidify it and dispose of it as it escapes。 I myself will join a team of three men…wearing the same protective clothing as the labour force。 We hope to mence work at 5。p。m。 We shall not know the results for twelve hours。 I would advise you； Prime Minister； to delay your broadcast for a few more hours。 We are playing our last card； win or lose。 Let's hope that it's an ace 。 。 。 '
An internal telephone buzzed； interrupting him。 Stafford answered it。
'Thank you。' He replaced the receiver； and mustered all the dignity which his state of exhaustion would allow。 'A report from Section Eight。 The pressure gauge has jumped a further two degrees。 Tomorrow； gentlemen； is D…Day！ It could even be sooner if there's another rise！'
Canverdale gasped inwardly。 'My broadcast must go ahead as previously scheduled；' he said。 'May God grant you success； Mr Tyler。'
Tyler nodded； folded his blueprints； and hurried from the room。 His men would be spurred to even greater efforts。
'You may remain here if you wish； gentlemen；' Stafford addressed the journalists； knowing full well that they would。 'We have canteen facilities should you require them。'
'One thing。' Kent was on his feet。 'Where's Dyne？'
Stafford seemed taken aback by the suddenness of the question； or the lack of respect shown for his chief by this upstart journalist。 When he replied there was a note of reprimand in his voice。 'Mr Dyne is temporarily confined to his quarters。 A migraine headache brought on by long hours without sleep。 A short rest and doubtless he will be back in charge。'
Kent glanced down at Coyle and both of them knew the time of the apocalypse was speeding up。 Unless something drastic happened quickly； tomorrow would never dawn。 Somehow they had to locate Winston Dyne。
At 5。25 p。m。 Tyler and his assistants wheeled their bulky radioactivity…solidifying machines into the pyramid of death which was officially known as Section Eight。 The immediate fate of a nation rested upon their shoulders； but their protective headgear hid their individual expressions。
At 6。30 p。m。 a column of angry； frightened people marched out of the Square in the old town； heading north。 The few remaining soldiers watched from a distance。 At the moment it was little more than a demonstration； with home…made banners and painted slogans held aloft。 Yet； beneath this semi…orderliness fear and anger seethed。 Soon it would e to the boil； and sheer terror would destroy all reason。
Loader was the first to hear the shouts of the advancing columns； possibly because his ears were tuned in anticipation。 He wanted them to e。 Christ； how he wanted that mob to show up！
The inbred killer instinct in Loader dominated his every action。 He recalled the Special Powers Act。 Now a State of Emergency reigned throughout the country。 He could do just anything he wanted in the interests of the security of the reactor。 They would back him up。 That was why he had this job。 Because he was the best there was…totally ruthless； and an obedient servant to authority 。。。 so long as it suited him。
He had even resented the arrival of the army within the Centre…took it as a personal insult。 He didn't need them。 Nobody got into the pound； unless it suited him personally。 Now he had to prove it to them。
He wished he could fry every one of the bastards now headed this way； one at a time。 He'd stop 'em； all right。 He'd stop the riot before the fucking army even knew it had begun。
Nearer。 Louder。 The shouting more frenzied with every passing second。
Now he could see them； even more than he had anticipated。 Five hundred at a rough estimation…with banners and sticks…mostly just yelling abuse。 Terrified； every single one of them； and not even a shotgun amongst them。
Loader remained inside the shelter。 He eased the heavy 。45 autmatic pistol out of its leather holster。 The very feel of it sent the blood coursing through his veins。 It was fully loaded； and there was a spare clip in his left hand。 He eased the safety…catch forward； his narrowed eyes measuring the marchers' progress…the range。 Two hundred yards 。 。 ； one hundred and fifty 。 。 。 one hundred 。 。 。 fifty。
He stepped out into the open； pistol dangling almost casually in his right hand； nostrils flared； lips pressed into a narrow bloodless line； feet slightly apart。 Timing； stance； all perfect。 One against five hundred。 The kind of odds he liked。
Thirty yards。
'Hold it！ Stay where you are！'
It was doubtful whether his voice was heard above the clamour。
Twenty yards； they saw him now and they weren't stopping for anybody！
'Get out of our way； you fucking bastard！'
The very words he wanted to hear。 A half crouch； a blur of movement； his whole body perfectly co…ordinated； the shots so close together that they might have e from a machine…gun。 With every one he picked a target； moving from one to another instinctively。 The speaker from the statue in the Square； went down first。 Two more…ex…workers ； men laid off only the other day； when only a small highly…skilled labour force had been retained on Section Eight。 A woman； stupid bitch。 Four more； yobbos。
There was screaming； chaos…the marchers tripping over each other as they fell back in total disarray。
The brief pause Loader needed。 Again his hands moved fast； efficiently。 The spare clip。 The 。45 aligned。 This time he was going to fire from the hip； show those watching from behind him that all that marksmanship training； two…handed pistol shooting； the left used as a support； was a load of nonsense。 Loader just needed a gun； nothing else。
A single shot rang out； the report heavier this time。 Loader straightened up； swaying uncertainly； the Ml Carbine bullet entering his body between the shoulder…blades； passing out through the chest； and then smashing the skull of one of the