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The top of the fuelling machine had stopped level with the catwalk.
Phoenix grasped the safety rail and hauled himself on to the narrow
walkway. It took ten minutes of superhuman effort to drag himself to
the control panel and push the button that stopped the fuelling machine
from completing the loading cycle.
The whine from the electric motors died away.
Phoenix leaned against the railings, too weak from the loss of blood to
make another move. He was cold. Numbing fingers of death were probing
his body, exploring his bowels, moving through his organs.
He became aware of footsteps echoing across the open vault of the power
station's central gallery.
A short stocky figure was mounting the steel steps to the catwalk.
Phoenix watched the Prime Minister approaching. The polished shoes
stopped near his outstretched legs. The Prime Minister knelt down.
"Well, Pyne, you seem to have managed better than I thought you
would."
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The man who was Phoenix nodded weakly. "Be able to--' His face twisted
with pain. He moved a gauntleted hand over his stomach. "Be able to
pick up from where I left off."
"No, Pyne. I don't think that's necessary now."
Pyne tried to struggle up. "But the bill, sir," he whispered.
"You need me to carry on here."
"The bill became law at midnight, Pyne."
Pyne shook his head inside the helmet. His lustre less grey eyes
stared up at the politician. "I thought you'd scrapped it after
Keller's takeover?"
The Prime Minister smiled at the dying man. "After all that planning,
Pyne? You misjudge me. Just as you misjudged Keller.
That was the one mistake Simpson and I made when we planned all this -
letting you choose your team. By the way, where are the other two?"
"Locked in a room off the control room. They know nothing about this.
I never told them." Pyne's words were a whisper.
"I didn't think you would," said the Prime Minister easily.
"You're much too loyal to disobey orders." He felt in his pocket and
produced a sheaf of papers which he held out to Pyne.
"There it is, Pyne. A copy of the Special Powers Act which makes me
the most powerful man in Europe. Just think, Pyne; no more forced
divisions in the House; no more worrying about legislation being
watered down in committee; no more worrying about which way rebel
backbenchers are going to vote. There it is, Pyne. Doesn't it seem
worthwhile after the worrying time we went through when you told me
about the existence of the Cromwell Two Committee, and our arguments
over which power station should be seized?" The Prime Minister laughed
easily. "I'm more powerful now than Cromwell ever dreamed possible."
Pyne fell back, his body drained of strength and blood.
The cold was reaching into his chest.
"What's going to happen to me, sir?"
The Prime Minister glanced at the blood on the top of the silent
fuelling machine. "Well, it looks as if you're going to die, Pyne.
I'll keep you company until you do."
Pyne looked up into the calculating eyes and began to understand.
"You're forgetting something, sir." The "sir' was automatic- the
product of Pyne's loyalty, which even the approach of death could not
entirely eradicate. "Simpson hates your guts.
He'll tell everyone."
"Simpson is dead, Pyne. Just as you will be in a few minutes."
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Pyne shook his head disbelievingly. "You need the threat from the
power station to stay in office. You said that when you wrote the
ultimatum. I remember your words..."
The Prime Minister smiled. "Read the bill, Pyne. It's been drafted by
the best legal brains in the country. It's one hundred per cent
watertight. It sailed through the House and now it's received the
royal assent. There was a clause that required the act to lapse once
the threat from the power station was removed, but it was deleted.
That's why I don't need you any more."
Pyne said nothing. His eyes were closing. Air rattled noisily past
his lips as his lungs laboured against the blood flooding into his
throat. The Prime Minister made himself comfortable while waiting for
Pyne to die.
"Oh yes, I nearly forgot. Your daughter's outside."
Pyne's eyes opened and flickered with eagerness. "Maggie?
She's here?" He tried to pull himself up. "May I see her, please?"
The Prime Minister shook his head. Pyne summoned his strength and
leaned forward. The politician pushed him back. He looked at the
blood on his hand with distaste and wiped it off on his handkerchief.
"You're a true bastard," said Pyne softly, barely able to move his
lips.
"At last you're beginning to understand me, Pyne. But when I walk out
of here, I'll be the biggest hero in the country."
The Prime Minister's voice was fading.
"But you, Pyne, will be remembered as a traitor. A traitor who was
given the chance to redeem himself, and failed. You won't even get the
credit for shooting Keller."
Pyne only heard the words "a traitor' before he died.
The Prime Minister leaned forward. "Are you dead yet, Pyne?"
he asked softly.
He placed his ear near the smashed visors. Pyne's lungs were silent.
The Prime Minister waited ten minutes to be certain, then stood up.
Maggie was waiting by the main entrance with Mitchell when the Prime
Minister emerged. Stacy's men were holding her back.
A pretty little thing, thought the Prime Minister. Had her father's
looks. If she had half his loyalty, she'd make the American a good
wife.
"Is he in there?" she asked.
The Prime Minister smiled warmly at her. "Yes, my child.
you can go in and see him now. Straight down the corridor and into the
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main reactor room. He's at the top of an iron catwalk waiting for
you."
"May I go with her, sir?" asked Mitchell.
The Prime Minister gestured expansively. "If you wish."
He waited until the couple had entered the building and turned to
Stacy.
"Captain Stacy, do you know what's been going on here?"
Stacy fingered his clipboard and nodded. "I saw the Home Secretary's
broadcast, sir."
The Prime Minister unfolded a piece of paper and gave it to the
officer. "You and your men are in for a busy night, Stacy.
That's a warrant for the names on the attached list. They're all
members of a group calling themselves the Cromwell Two Committee.
You're to round them up."
Stacy looked at the list aghast. "These people?" he croaked.
"But they're all--' "Politicians, top civil servants, service
officers.
Pillars of society. I don't care what they are," interrupted the Prime
Minister. "All I know is that they're traitors."
"But one of them is the Home Secretary," Stacy protested.
"The ringleader. You'll also find two of the terrorists in there."
The Prime Minister jerked his head at the power station.
"I've locked them in a room off the control room. A man and a woman.
Arrest them too. When you've done that, send a bomb disposal team into
the silos to remove the high explosive. Have you got all that?"
Stacy repeated his instructions in a trembling voice.
"Excellent, Stacy. One more thing. I've a sense of the theatrical in
me tonight so haul them all off to the Tower of London.
The Prime Minister did not wait for a reply, but turned and walked to
his car. The driver jumped out and opened the rear door.
"Downing Street," said the politician.
He paused before getting into the car and looked up at the stars. The
clear sky was tinged with the first flush of dawn.
He inhaled deeply.
There was the smell of a new day in the air.
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