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omething else； too。 A swelling the size of a songbird's egg at the back of the throat。 He looked for the familiar yellow puss； but could see none。
'That's wot 'is trouble was'…a cockney accent； discernible even through the filtered mouthpiece as the man from the Radiological Protection Board released the jaws。 'Bloody wasp stung 'im in the mouth。'
The two of them were already on their way back to their van。 Call…outs would be many…some genuine； others false alarms…but none could be overlooked。
'Sent 'im crazy with pain。 E'd 'ave been all right； though。 'Appens to lots o' dogs。 No need to 'ave shot 'im。 Squirrels neither。 Still； s'pose you can't take chances these days。 Pity about the dog； though。'
The engine purred into life； and McLellan watched the van disappear around the bend in the drive； beyond the rhododendrons。
After some minutes； he walked slowly into the house。 The effort of climbing the wide staircase was greater than usual。 For the first time since he had met her； McLellan felt afraid of Edith。 For thirty years he had dictated； dominated 。 。 。 and she had cowered before him。 And now he had destroyed the only living thing for which she had any love。
He quietly pushed open the bedroom door。 The curtains were still drawn； and he could barely discern the details of the room。 He moved towards the bed； walking on tiptoe。 She lay on the nearside； still sleeping。 Clumsily his hand knocked against something on the bedside table…a small bottle。 It fell on to the thick carpet； and rolled a few inches。 Even in his dazed condition he knew that it should have rattled。 It sounded empty。 He did not trouble to unscrew the cap to ascertain his worst fears。 Neither did he pull back the bedclothes。 His sudden fear of a timid woman blended into another kind of cowardice。
He retraced his steps； more slowly than before。 Down the stairs； across the hall； into the room where the Purdey lay on the table。 The window was still wide open。 The mist outside had thickened again； infiltrating the house。
A slight acrid smell as he opened the breech again。 Only one cartridge this time。 The left…hand chamber。
He had no idea why he went back out into the garden。 Perhaps it was an inbred respect for his domestic chattels； the rewards of corruption。 He experienced some difficulty in reversing the shotgun barrels so that the cold steel penetrated his open mouth whilst enabling his short arms to bring his stubby thumb to bear upon the lower of the two triggers。
After several attempts he managed the required stance。 A short laugh trumpeted down the gun barrels。 McLoughlin certainly wouldn't get his tender accepted now； even if 。 。 。
The booming report echoed around the surrounding hills； dying away slowly in the still atmosphere。
In the offices of the Herald； Kent and Coyle regarded each other grimly。 They had counted the number of shots during the past hour。 Maybe seven。
'Some stupid bastards are trying to break out over the hills；' Coyle said。 'The army cordon must form a plete circle。 They don't mean anybody to get out…or in。 They're trying to isolate this radioactivity； hoping that whatever has already escaped into the atmosphere will be contained in this valley by the surrounding mountains。 All depends on whether a strong wind gets up。 Not even the mountains could stop it then。 We're caged in。 It's like putting a mesh fence around a warren of rabbits which have contracted myxamatosis。'
Chapter 11
Even in a time of nationwide crisis； Saturday is a day of leisure amongst the British people。 Sport predominates； no matter what。 It is estimated that； on average； half a million people normally attend soccer matches on that day。 Thousands follow racing； rugby； and other outdoor pursuits。 Millions more follow radio and television coverage。
In this respect the Prime Minister's broadcast was well timed。 Saturday's sporting fixtures remained unaffected。 The full implication of the impending disaster would not be realised for another few hours。 A breathing space had been gained by those in authority。 Except in one sprawling town within the valley of the shadow of death。
Coyle was surprised to see Anne walk in shortly before eleven o'clock。 Normally the Herald offices were closed on Saturdays。 She smiled； but could not hide the strain she was feeling。
'You needn't have bothered 。 。 。 '
'I felt I had to get out ~ just go somewhere。 I knew you'd be here。'
'You'd better join us in a whisky then。'
An hour later Kent managed to contact Winston Dyne。
'How's it going？' The reporter came to the point quickly。
'Still rising。 Not as fast as it might； though。 The shifts are working very hard。 Trouble is； there's only room for the allocated number of men。 Too many would get in each other's way。'
'Any trouble…with the workers； I mean？'
'A spot of bother with the shop…stewards to begin with。 The men were out for twenty minutes。 They've gone back on treble pay。 Quadruple for the weekend work。'
'I tried to phone my paper。'
'All external munications have been suspended。'
'Except that you've got a direct line to Whitehall。' A shrewd guess on Kent's part。
'Naturally。 I can get messages out for you…so long as they go through me personally。'
'OK。 Fair enough。 But I'll need a couple of passes to get in and out of your place。'
'A couple？'
'Coyle and myself。'
'I see。' A pause。 'Well； I suppose it can be arranged。'
'Seeing that you do all the arranging I don't see any problems。'
'We can't declare an open day； you know； but I'll see to it。 Can't fix it before Monday； though。 I'll have them delivered。 But you won't be allowed anywhere near Section Eight。'
'That's the last place in this goddamned valley I want to go。'
Kent replaced the receiver。
'Well； we've season tickets for the show。' He laughed softly。 'Let's hope it isn't another Mousetrap。 In the meantime； I'm going to take a stroll around town。 I want to see how the man…in…the…street is reacting to military law。'
Coyle was grateful to be alone with Anne。 It seemed an eternity since they had last been together in private。
'How did your folks take it？' he asked。 'The news about us。'
'A bit shocked。 I think they were under the illusion that it was some kind of platonic relationship； maybe just a flirtation。 They didn't make the fuss I expected； though。 By the way； where are we going tonight？'
'Originally to the Nith Hotel in Glencaple…best meal on the west coast of Scotland。 Followed by a couple of hours of passion down by Brow Well； Robbie Burn's area。 I'll bet he laid more than one wench down there！ However； we'll never get out of this valley； so I guess we might as well try that new Chinese restaurant that opened last week。'
'And you'll be 。。。 going home afterwards？' She had to make an effort to voice her innermost fear。
He scratched his head thoughtfully。
'No privacy at either your place or mine。 Suppose we bring sleeping…bags and a blow…up mattress down to the office here？'
'Anywhere。' Her arms were around him； their lips crushed together。 'Just anywhere； Bob； so long as we're together。 Time's running out fast。 I want to spend every possible minute with you。'
Attendances at football grounds throughout Britain more than doubled on that Saturday afternoon following the PM's announcement。 Yet many sensed it was but a brief respite before anarchy menced。 One last spree。 And indeed there was trouble brewing at every ground before the ninety minutes were up。 No ardent fan likes to see his team defeated…especially when it could be the last match the club would ever play。 Ibrox was packed beyond capacity。 The disaster of the early seventies was forgotten； and police diverted to crowd control had not a hope of enforcing the attendance limit。 If they had tried to do so； the riots would have begun even before the game kicked off。 The old firm： Rangers versus Celtic。 Trouble was brewing； and it had to e to the boil。 A Final to end all Cup Finals。 The ultimate victors。 Only； in the end； everybody would lose； teams and supporters alike。
At Old Trafford safety…fences had a frail look about them； with sixty…five thousand King Kongs about to burst their chains and go on the rampage。 The hooligan element had already devised a human ladder by which followers could gain access to the pitch。 The bottom rungs would soon be crushed beneath the clambering stampede； but that was immaterial。
Londoners were willing to spill blood at Highbury； where an influx of Spurs supporters had infiltrated the home terraces。 And so it was； nationwide。
And all of this was preceded by a mad Saturday…morning shopping and drinking spree。 Money would soon be useless； so spend it now。 On anything。 To hell with the law； too。 No prison sentences would be pleted。
A total breakdown in the system was beginning…but sport must e first。