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article in last week's edition； the reference to the Balzur legend and the link between Pluto and plutonium。 He says you're playing on sensationalism which could have a detrimental psychological effect on the people of this town。 He wants to see you； so I've arranged for you to be up there at ten in the morning。'
'Darling；' Coyle craned his neck up so that their lips brushed。 'You are Britain's number…one secretary； most definitely。 Twice over the past few months I have been refused an interview with Dyne。 Barbed wire； armed guards； and Christ knows what else； and now I'm actually going inside the devil's stronghold itself。 And it took you to fix it。'
'He's having your pass delivered here later today；' she purred。 'My Bob's making quite a name for himself； isn't he？ Even the Boffins are sitting up and taking notice of him。'
Trying to shut me up； you mean；' he laughed； and stiffened as he felt his zip being slowly pulled down。 'We'd better lock the door；' he signed。
Chapter 3
Coyle experienced an acute sense of uneasiness as he eased his foot off the Avenger's accelerator some twenty yards from the huge twenty…foot…high steel…barred barrier。 An elevated enclosed platform was strategically positioned above the entrance to the nuclear waste disposal and recycling centre。 He noticed a face behind a small aperture； eyes that watched him unwaveringly。 Without a doubt the man was holding a rifle； possibly a submachine…gun； with his thumb positioned on the safety…catch。
The Avenger rolled forward until it was barely five yards from the checkpoint。 A sentry…box stood to the right； outside the barbed…wire fencing。
Coyle wound the window down and held up the green card so that it was visible to the man on checkpoint。 The newspaperman cursed beneath his breath； more to boost his own morale than from anger。 All part of the process； he decided。 Another Berlin Wall。 Playing on my nerves…or trying to。 He pitied the workers who had to pass to and fro daily。 Just like a Siberian labour camp。
Perhaps both these guys watching him from their sentry positions had read his article in last week's Herald。 Maybe Dyne had had it distributed amongst the men。 'This is the guy who is starting all the rumours； using a legend to help cause mass hysteria。 Give him the treatment。 One visit； and he won't want to e back again'。 No； that wasn't right。 It would all get in the paper； and that wouldn't be good publicity。
Nevertheless； nobody was in a hurry。 Coyle lit a cigarette； carefully and deliberately； nonchalantly tossing the spent match in the direction of the lower checkpoint。 He was genuinely angry now； and felt like sounding his horn； or calling out 'Hey you！' Instead he flicked cigarette ash into the wind； and wished that a spark would hit this gateway dictator in the eye。
At last the man advanced slowly towards him。 He was heavily built； a tightly…buttoned uniform holding back rolls of fat。 Slav features； too； or was that his imagination？ Just plain flat…faced and ugly。 He carried a revolver in a holster； the flap…type which prevented a fast draw。 Coyle guessed that in the event of trouble； the upper man would do the shooting。
The guard held out his hand for the pass。 Co》le handed it over； intending to meet his gaze； but the other seemed interested only in the writing on the thin card。 He certainly took his time over it； and Coyle considered perhaps the fellow was illiterate； but again decided it was all part of the demoralising process。 Neither spoke； and there was no need to。 Everything was written on that pass。 Name。 Date。 Reason for visit。 Time of admittance 。 。 。 The big man glanced at his watch。 The card stated 9。55。a。m。 It was now 9。50。 He handed the card back； and returned to his post without a word。 Everything had been conducted in total silence。 Not even a grunt。
Coyle revved up his engine； expecting the gates to open automatically。 Nothing happened。 He was on the point of attracting the man's attention again； when he noticed the hands of his wristwatch： 9。54 a。m。
At 9。55 the gates swung back smoothly； and he drove slowly through。 A black tarmac track headed directly across the red shale pound towards the giant towers； with 5 mph speed…limit signs spaced at intervals of a hundred yards。 Several hundred cars were parked diagonally to his right； obviously belonging to the local labour…force。 He kept going until he reached the second barrier。
Here the uniformed Atomic Energy Authority policeman almost smiled。 Almost。 Coyle had the impression that the man nearly forgot his orders； and then remembered them just in time。 Again the revolver was worn in a covered holster； but the flap was undone。
The man took the green card； read it through minutely； and then pointed in the direction of a squat； one…storied building standing on its own beside what were obviously offices and laboratories。
'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 regard