Free Scorpion [Scorpions 01] by Michael R. Linaker Page A

cove ’ere. Every so often I’d go by an’ those fellers in the rubber suits would be there checkin’ the area. Then, after about five weeks, I come by one mornin’ an’ they were all still there - the fellers with the gadgets an’ the Navy boat. I come home close on dusk. When I passed the cove they were all gone, boat an’ all. An’ I never saw any of ‘em again.’
        Chris had been writing as Guillerman spoke. When he’d finished she looked up, her face flushed with excitement. The old man noticed her agitation and smiled.
        ‘Given you somethin’ to chew on ’ave I?’
        ‘You certainly have, Mr. Guillerman.’
        ‘What do you make of it?’
        ‘Judging from what you’ve told me,’ Chris said, ‘I think there was some kind of radiation leakage from the plant. The water that is piped into the sea is used to keep the radioactive pile cool during operation. A fault must have developed, allowing radioactivity to contaminate the water. It must have been a slight leakage, not enough to register on the monitoring system, but if it continued over the period of time you mentioned - six months - then it would add up to a fairly strong amount. Either it was finally discovered in the plant or they found out about the dead fish. Lord, there must have been one hell of a panic then. No wonder there was all that activity in the cove here. Once they’d found the leak they’d have to keep a check on the radiation level until it fell below danger level.’
        Guillerman looked thoughtful for a moment. ‘Seems they managed to keep it pretty quiet,’ he said knowingly. ‘I mean, I never read anythin’ about it in the papers, or saw anythin’ on the television.’
        ‘That was because they wouldn’t want anyone to know. If the Government had to admit that a leak had gone undiscovered for six months it might have given the anti-nuclear movement enough power to bring real pressure to bear. Even force a shutdown of the plant.’
        ‘You seen enough?’ Guillerman asked.
        ‘Just let me get a few shots of the cove and the pipe,’ Chris said. She put away her notepad and lifted the camera she had on a shoulder strap. She took half a dozen shots of the cove, the steel pipe and the clifftop. Satisfied, she put the camera back in its case and turned to Guillerman. ‘Now I’ve seen enough,’ she said.
        
***
        
        An hour later they were moored beside the harbor wall flanking the tiny village where Guillerman had his home. The old man followed Chris off the boat and along the jetty to where she’d parked her car.
        ‘I was sorry to ‘ear about that young feller dying. We’d only spoke on the phone a couple of times. He seemed pretty interested in what I wanted to tell ’im. I saw the report of the inquest in the paper. They any nearer findin’ out what caused it?’
        Chris shook her head. ‘No. Just some kind of insect sting that went wrong.’
        ‘You gettin’ over it now?’
        ‘Sort of.’
        Guillerman nodded. ‘I ’ope what I told you ’elps. Be a shame not to use it. He sounded a genuine young feller. Concerned.’
        ‘Yes, he was,’ Chris said, and thought, so am I now.
        
***
        
        ‘But is it enough, Chris?’
        Jack Webster stared over the rim of his coffee cup as he sat in Chris’s cottage, the notepad with Guillerman’s story held in his other hand. His earnest face still bore the marks of the injuries he’d received during the brawl at the recent demonstration.
        ‘I think we need more, love,’ he went on, then seeing the expression on Chris’s face he hastened to add: ‘Oh hell, Chris, I don’t mean to knock what you’ve done. It was great!’
        ‘No, it’s all right. I see what you mean,’ Chris agreed. She sank back in her own chair. ‘What we need is to get some kind of positive official action. Something that