‘Yes. That’s what has been puzzling me.’
‘When?’
‘At regular intervals for two months after the blow-up. Negative each time.’
Seff nodded. ‘That checks. I’ll explain in a minute.’ He got up and started to pace the room. ‘As you know, when the pile “ran away”, one of the heat-exchangers burst with the increased steam pressure. That meant that radioactive gas from inside the damaged reactor came into direct contact with the steam and made it highly radioactive. The main turbine cocks were all closed, and so the steam could only escape either through the fractured walls of the heat-exchanger or back into the pumping-room. Now, it was essential to open the outlet cock fast, both to get rid of that lethal steam and to relieve the rapidly building pressure. The safety valves couldn’t handle it, and there was a danger that the whole system would burst. Those gauges were already clean off the dial. And the pressure didn’t start dropping, even after Manson had — supposedly — opened the outlet cock. Then, after a very anxious ten minutes or so, the pressure did fall. Why?’
He stood, this wiry man. by the window, the muscles of his face drawn taut with alertness. ‘We now know why. For a while, after Manson had opened the inlet cock, nothing happened. There is a non-return valve in the system to prevent the water flowing back into the loch — under normal conditions. But of course it was under high pressure. And eventually the valve blew. The steam and boiling water roared down the inlet pipe towards the loch.
‘But there’s a reservoir tank between the pumping-room and the loch. I won’t bother you with details of plumbing, but that tank is where the radioactive water lay in wait, while Gatt was busily testing the loch for contamination. And since it is normally “clean” water in that tank, and since no one had the slightest inkling that Manson had opened the inlet cock, there was nothing to prevent some innocent engineer from emptying its contents into the loch when it was evident that there was no further use for the water, due to the closing down of Project 3. You see, there was no earthly reason to suppose that the water could have been anything but innocent.’
Hargreaves said: ‘About these safety valves. Shouldn’t they be capable of handling any excess pressure in the event of an emergency?’
‘Yes, they certainly should. Of course, no one had visualised anything approaching the colossal pressures that built up as a result of the accident. And of course if Manson had opened the right cock the pressure would have dropped immediately. Still, we’ll have to look at the valves on the new reactor with this in view, before we start it up.’
‘We’ll have to look at a hell of a lot more things than that!’ said the Director, grimly enough. But the loudspeaker cut him short.
‘Hallo, baker one. Can you hear me okay? Over.’
Gatt replied that he could.
‘Good. Nice to know you’re there. It’s pretty spooky in these parts! Well, we’ve been up and down the water like a ruddy lawn-mower; and although the count is slightly above normal background in one or two places there is nothing much cooking in these parts. Over.’
‘Baker one. I’m certain we’re on the right track, but I think I see what’s happening. The water itself won’t be very radioactive because it has been replaced several times over by the rain and the springs flowing into it. The real trouble must therefore be in the silt underneath, and the water is shielding you from the radiation. If you are right about the level of the loch going up and down, what must be happening is this: when the level is low, parts of the loch-bed are exposed and become dry. Then, during a high wind, the radioactive silt is blown away, causing the trouble. Are you with me so far? Over.’
‘Yes. I understand. Then there is no way of finding out without dredging the loch? Over.’
‘I think there is. But it depends how much fuel you’ve got. Over.’
‘Just a minute, then.’ A minute ticked by, and the pip-pip-pip of the trunk-line timing system came clearly over the speaker.
Seff said: ‘I think your idea is too dangerous, Gatt.’
Arlen said: ‘It depends on the moon. As long as they can see what they’re doing they’ll be all right. But we’ll have to leave it to them.’
‘Baker one again,’ said Simmel. ‘We’re okay for fuel for another hour. What we’re a bit concerned about is the light. The moon is bright most of the time, but there are some streaky clouds that keep obscuring it. I think we’ll be all right if we keep an eye on them though. What do you want us to do? Over.’
‘Well, for God’s sake be careful and don’t take any unnecessary risks. Because what I am going to ask you to do means going near the cliff edge. If it is too dangerous you must not even try it. On the other hand, if we can get a positive answer to the problem it’s going to make a lot of difference to everyone.’
The Director said: ‘Ask him what the wind is like.’
Gatt nodded appreciatively. ‘Of course: most important.’ He spoke again into the telephone. ‘How’s the wind, Simmel? Over.’
‘Not much of it. But what there is is gusty. Over.’
Gatt covered up the receiver with his hand. ‘I don’t like it,’ he said. ‘There’s too much risk.’
Frank said: ‘Couldn’t we send out a ground party?’
‘The trouble is it’s difficult to reach the loch by land,’ said Hargreaves thoughtfully. ‘The only way you can get down is to scale the cliffs. And if we don’t get the answer tonight … well, there might be something like a general panic. The Cabinet are extremely anxious on that score. No, we’ll have to go through with it, though you must understand that it is entirely on my responsibility.’
Gatt made no comment on this. But he said: ‘Do you mind if we stop the fan, Robert? My head is pounding like a road-breaker.’ Hargreaves got up to turn the thing off. Gatt uncovered the telephone receiver and spoke to Simmel. ‘Baker one. My idea is that the silt at the edge of the loch must be in the same condition as the mud at the bottom. But because the water is shallow at the edge the radiation should come through. Over.’
‘Roger. Actually if we can get tight-in to the cliff we will be over naked ground, because even now the water isn’t quite up to its maximum level. The biggest patch of uncovered mud is near the outlet — where the dam used to be. On either side of the channel there is open ground. The trouble is, it’s the narrowest point for us, because the cliffs close in on either side. Wait a minute; I’ll ask the pilot what he thinks.’
Abruptly there came a knock on the door. The Director who had been standing by the fan switch, himself went to the door and opened it. ‘Sophie!’ he exclaimed. ‘What —?’
‘I’m sorry,’ she said, a little embarrassed now that she had taken the plunge. ‘I just wondered —’
Hargreaves managed a smile. ‘You’d better come in, dear. We’re just talking to Dick on the radio.’ He saw she was perplexed. ‘Remote control from Glennaverley,’ he explained. She nodded rather doubtfully, and he motioned her to Simmel’s chair. Gresham smiled reassuringly from across the table. Sophie, grateful, tried to smile back.
Simmel’s voice came up on the radio again. ‘Baker one. We’re going to try it. And I’m going to stay on the air all the time until we’re clear of the place.’ Sophie sat transfixed, her eyes wide open, like a child’s, gazing intently at the loudspeaker. ‘Major Pentecue has opened the throttle and we’re heading down the lake towards the outlet. We’re about thirty feet up, and that’s about as low as we dare go once we reach the crevice between the two cliffs … The moon’s okay at the moment, though you can’t always see this cloud until the last moment. So far, no radiation.’
‘What’s he doing?’ said Sophie tensely. ‘What’s this about a crevice?’
‘He’s going to take a closer look, that’s all,’ said Gatt, kindly enough. ‘Nothing very dangerous.’
‘But … ?’ She broke off. ‘Can’t I speak to him?’
‘I’m afraid not. At least, not yet. No one can until he stops transmitting.’
‘I see.’
‘… It’s getting a bit bumpy, now that we’re approaching the cliff. And I think we’ll have to get lower if we can — because there’s nothing much coming out of the hot-box. I suppose most of the stuff became deposited near the other end — the Marsdowne end …’
‘Tiddlywinks again,’ said Gatt in an undertone.
‘We’re dropping down into the gully now — I wish you could hear some of the things Major Pentecue is saying about you! Hallo! We’re beginning to get some real action from the geiger counter. Hurrah! Yes, this loch is hot all right!’
‘Come out now!’ shouted Hargreaves impotently. ‘You’ve told us what we’ve wanted to know. Come out of there, for God’s sake!’
‘… The radiation level, Gatt, on this machine is reading about three-quarters of the way up the dial, on the low range — about 7 roentgen-hours, that is. Our height is roughly twenty feet. I hope that is some help. Damn! Just as we wanted it most the moon is going behind a cloud. This may be a bit dicey. Hell, it’s dark around here. There’s a bit of wind, too. It must get sucked through the narrow end of the valley. Frankly, I’m scared. I’m glad I’ve got to keep talking … we’re going up now, and with any luck we’ll get clear. But you can’t see a damn thing! Pentecue is allowing for drift and we’re sort of edging crabwise out of the crevice. E-a-s-y, now! … Thank God, the moon is coming up again and Jesus Christ …!’ There was a click on the line.
And then, nothing.
With unnatural calm Gatt spoke into the phone. ‘I’m speaking to the radio operator at Glennaverley. Can you hear me?’
‘Yes, sir. I’m afraid … I’m afraid they’ve stopped transmitting.’
‘Call them up yourself and re-establish contact.’
‘Yes, I’ll try that. Hold on, please.’
Sophie stared across the table, an awful, unspoken question in her gaze. If she had been capable, in those few long seconds, of considering ‘love’ as an abstract idea, her thoughts of the previous day would have seemed strangely inapplicable — ‘because you are the man, you will know your feelings more quickly …’ She had learned hers quickly enough.
Seff knew how she felt all right. He poured some whisky into his empty glass, pressed it into her hand. ‘You are to drink this,’ he said sternly, as to a child. ‘Go on, drink it up.’ Obediently she did so.
The operator’s voice cut into the room. ‘I can’t raise them.’ The simple statement required no elucidation. Hargreaves took the telephone receiver from Gatt. ‘Put your commanding officer on the line.’
‘Colonel Sumner speaking,’ said a voice of unmistakable authority. ‘I have been listening on the line.’
‘Good. Well, I don’t have to tell you what to do.’
‘I’ll call Air-Sea Rescue at once. And I’ll send up another chopper.’
‘No, don’t do that, Colonel. It’s too dark in that loch.’ He paused. ‘How long would it take you to fit a car headlamp to one of your machines?’
‘I have already done so. I’m afraid I anticipated this possibility — but I wish I’d thought of it sooner.’
‘It’s not your fault, Colonel. What are their chances? We might as well know.’
‘It’s impossible to say. They only had twenty feet to fall. But looking at the gloomy side, it could have been rock underneath. And of course if you catch a blade it’s apt to smash up the whole machine.’
‘What about the danger of fire?’
Involuntarily Sophie said: ‘Oh God, no!’ and turned away so that the others couldn’t see the expression on her face.
‘There is a danger, of course. But we can see quite a long way upstream from here. I think if there was a fire we would see the glow. I’d better get on with it now, sir.’
‘Yes, of course. You will let us know … ?’
‘The moment we have any news.’
The Director hung up, and there was a long silence in the room. At length he said: ‘If that boy has gone to his death, there’s someone who should hang for it.’
Seff looked down. ‘I know what you mean,’ he said quietly. ‘But I still don’t think you should have sent Simmel in.’
Sophie, white even to the lips now, had the last word. ‘I do,’ she said simply.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
‘I’M glad you asked me round, Kate,’ said Angela. ‘I wouldn’t have cared much to spend the evening on my own.’
Kate put the sugar in the coffee and handed her a cup. She attempted a smile, but it didn’t come off very well. ‘Nor me!’ She lowered her eyes. ‘Do you happen to know what Dick is doing up at Glennaverley? Something pretty dangerous, isn’t it?’
‘Now, you stop thinking about Dick.’
‘I find that difficult.’
‘Yes, I know what you mean. One does.’
‘I don’t know what I would have done if I hadn’t had you to talk to tonight. The worst part, of it is, I ran into the girl at the office today, and I can’t even hate her.’
‘Well, don’t try. Being bitter doesn’t help, believe me.’ Angela lit a cigarette nervously. ‘Do you mind if I phone the hospital? I want to let them know where I am.’ She picked up the phone. ‘June’s baby is about the only happy prospect there is, at the moment — except for the way Jack has rallied-through in this business. Hallo … Private wing, please.’
‘Private ward — Sister speaking.’
‘This is Mrs Seff; I’m a friend of Mrs Springle’s. Is there any news yet?’
‘Oh, good evening, Mrs Seff. Yes, Mrs Springle has just arrived, and she was hoping you’d ring. I got the impression that she’d rather like you to be near at hand. You know, it’s her first, and she’s quite nervous really, though she’s very composed and very happy. We can’t let you see her, of course, until after the baby has been delivered. But it would be nice for her if she knew you weren’t far away.’
‘Of course, I’d be delighted to come. I’ll leave right away. Thank you, Sister.’ She hung up. ‘June wants me to go to the nursing-home, Kate. I’d suggest you came, too, but —’
‘It’s all right, Mrs Seff. I’m hardly in the mood to witness the happy event! I’ll call you a cab. In any case, I’d better stay here. You never know; they might just need me at the office. It looks as if they’re going to be there all night.’
‘You’ll be okay, won’t you?’ Angela sounded genuinely concerned.
‘Oh yes,’ she smiled. ‘Absolutely okay!’
*
Blackness.
No, net blackness. There was some sort of light. A round, yellowish light. Like looking through a porthole.
That’s right! It is a porthole. It’s a ship. It’s the Dunster Castle, and soon it will steam into Liverpool. Demob., leave, an orgy of theatres …
But the deck is wet. Water slopping over everything. And the ship isn’t moving. And somewhere, an odd sort of croaking noise …
A voice said: ‘Are you all right, Simmel?’ Then, more urgently, ‘Simmel?’
The voice reminded Dick of stale chicken sandwiches. But for a moment he couldn’t place it. But the porthole had become the moon, and he could make out the outline of some sort of rocky gorge, opening out above him to the night sky. A thing that looked like a boat oar — a giant one — was sticking out of the mud near his right arm.
And when he realised that it was part of a blade belonging to the rotor, he remembered the old lady and knew where he was. ‘Poor old lady,’ he said aloud.
Major Pentecue said: ‘Thank God you’re all right! You’ve been unconscious.’ They were both silent for a while, and there was only the slight sound of the water lapping around them and the intermittent croaking noise. Pentecue was out of sight, somewhere behind the bulk of the wreckage. Eventually he said: ‘Are you hurt badly?’
‘I don’t know. I can’t feel my right leg. I can’t move it. Perhaps it’s broken. I banged my head, too. How about you?’
‘I can’t really tell. There’s a lot of rubble on top of me, and it’s just not on, even to a
ttempt to move. I think I’ve smashed a few ribs. Chest hurts like hell.’
Dick said: ‘I’m bloody sorry. I got you into this mess.’
‘Don’t be a clot! We’re both damn’ lucky to be alive. I can’t think why there wasn’t a fire.’ The croaking noise again. ‘What the hell is that?’
‘Sounds like a frog. And I think the horrible thing is crawling up my leg! Wait a minute; I’ll see if I can reach my torch.’ When Dick delved into his pocket a shooting pain in his shoulder made him cry out.
‘What’s happening? You all right?’
Dick managed to get the torch out. ‘Yes, sorry. I’ve evidently done something to my shoulder as well. Now let’s see if it’ll work.’ It did. Well, that’s a miracle!’ He searched for the offending frog. ‘Now, where are you, you slimy beast?’
The frog stared back at him, hypnotised by the flickering light. It was a pretty stupid-looking frog, Dick thought. There appeared to be something wrong with it, though the animal didn’t seem to be aware of any deficiency.
‘Have you found your frog?’ asked the Major. He was in more pain than he cared to admit, and it showed in his voice.
Dick took a closer look at the animal.
Then he saw what was wrong with it. The sight made him want to vomit.
Sprouting from each knee joint of the hind legs were two extra feet. The thing had got six legs.
Struggling to keep his voice level, Dick said: ‘I hope to God they get us out of here soon. I’ve just seen something I hope I never see again.’
‘What was it? The Loch Logie Monster?’
‘Yes … it was certainly a monster.’ Just then the animal gave a final croak and hopped back into the water. There was a slight plop!and the thing swam away. Dick felt his flesh creep. He was wondering what further horror might suddenly appear.
He found he was shivering — the water seemed to be ice cold. He tried crawling, and found that he could make slow, though extremely painful, progress towards the shore. The naked mud was only a few feet away, but he could only move an inch or so at a time. Gasping, he asked Pentecue if he was in the water too.
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