‘All the same, I wouldn’t want to be a penguin right now. What about America?’
‘Same thing. The idea was obviously to blow up the west coast stations, so the fall-out would blow eastwards over the whole of America. Now it’s going to blow over Siberia.’
‘Oh dear,’ I said, ‘the Russians won’t be pleased!’
‘No.’ he smiled, ‘I don’t expect they will.’
I sat back and lit a cigarette. There was a long silence.
‘You look glum, Flynn,’ he said.
‘I don’t like to fail.’
‘You didn’t fail.’
‘What do you mean? Of course I did. The reactor is going to blow up. So, okay, all the stuff’s going to be blown out to sea; fifteen million Englishmen aren’t going to be decimated; but that’s no thanks to me, to any of us – it’s all a bloody fluke. Next time, it could be very different.’
‘There isn’t a “this time” and a “next time” in our business,’ said Fifeshire, ‘there’s no official beginning and end. Ours is an ongoing process. We’re forever walking down a dark tunnel, snatching at patches of light. We win some and we lose some; but often we don’t know whether we have really won, any more than we know whether we have really lost.’
I looked at him. His talk of dark and light had reminded me of something. ‘Are you any good at crosswords, sir?’
‘Try me.’
‘“Short Richard’s offspring divides nation with friendly underground railroad.” Three words. Five letters, five letters, and four.’
‘Where’s the crossword from?’
‘The New York Sunday Times.’
He thought for about three seconds. ‘It’s from the civil war days, the division between the northern and southern States; Mason Dixon Line.’
‘Of course, staring me in the face,’ I said.
‘Any other clues you’re stuck with?’
‘No, but there’s one puzzle we haven’t yet solved: Sir Isaac Quoit.’
Fifeshire nodded. ‘You know what I think? I think the whole damned business with him was a red herring. Like the fuel; it was to distract us from what was really going on.’
‘I’m sure you’re right, sir. But what the hell do we do with his body?’
‘Smuggle it into Russia, Flynn. Unless you can think of a better idea?’
I sat in silence for a long time, trying to think of a better idea.
First published 1982 by W. H. Allen
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Copyright © Peter James 1982
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Peter James, Atom Bomb Angel
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