Night Without End by Alistair MacLean Page B

out? And don't kid yourselves about the life-giving warmth of this cabin. The floor temperature is about zero now - and that's as hot as it's likely to get." 
         
         "You said there was a radio on your old tractor," Corazzini said abruptly. "What range does it have? Couldn't you possibly reach your friends - or your Uplavnik base - with that?" 
         
         I nodded in Joss's direction. "There's the man to ask." 
         
         "I heard," Joss said without enthusiasm. "Do you think I'd be trying to salvage this wreckage, Mr Corazzini, if there was any chance? It's an eight-watt transmitter with hand-cranked generator and battery receiver, it came out of the ark and was never meant for anything more than walkie-talkie use." 
         
         "But what is its range?" Corazzini persisted. 
         
         "Impossible to say." Joss shrugged. "You know how it is with transmission and reception. One day you can hardly pick up the BBC a hundred miles away, another you can pick up a taxi-cab at twice the distance, if you have the right receiver. All depends on conditions. This one? Hundred miles, maybe - hundred fifty in perfect conditions. In the present conditions, you'd be better with a megaphone. I'll have a go with it this afternoon, perhaps. Might as well waste my time that way as any other." Joss turned away and it was obvious that, as far as he was concerned, the subject was closed. 
         
         "Perhaps your friends will move within transmission range?" Corazzini suggested. "After all, you said they're not much more than a couple of hundred miles away." 
         
         "And I said they'll be staying there. They've set up their equipment and instruments and they won't move until they have to. They're too short of petrol for that." 
         
         "They can refuel here, of course?" 
         
         "That's no worry." I jerked a thumb towards the tunnel. "There's eight hundred gallons out there." 
         
         "I see." Corazzini looked thoughtful for a moment, then went on. "Please don't think I'm being annoyingly persistent. I just want to eliminate possibilities. I believe you have - or have had -a radio schedule with your friends. Won't they worry if they fail to hear from you?" 
         
         "Hillcrest - that's the scientist in charge - never worries about anything. And unfortunately, their own radio, a big long-range job, is giving trouble - they said a couple of days ago that the generator brushes were beginning to give out - and the nearest spares are here. If they can't raise us, they'll probably blame themselves. Anyway, they know we're safe as houses here. Why on earth should they worry?" 
         
         "So what do we do?" Solly Levin asked querulously. "Starve to death or start hikin'?" 
         
         "Succinctly and admirably put," Senator Brewster boomed. "In a nutshell, one might say. I propose we set up a small committee to investigate the possibilities-" 
         
         "This isn't Washington, Senator," I said mildly. "Besides, we already have a committee - Mr London, Mr Nielsen and myself." 
         
         "Indeed?" It seemed to be the Senator's favourite word, and long years of practice had matched it perfectly to the lift of his eyebrows. "You will remember, perhaps, that we have rather a personal stake in this also?" 
         
         "I'm unlikely to forget it," I said dryly. "Look, Senator, if you were adrift in a hurricane and were picked up by a ship, would you presume to advise the captain and his officers of the course they should adopt to survive the hurricane?" 
         
         "That's not the point." Senator Brewster puffed out his cheeks. "This is not a ship-" 
         
         "Shut up!" It was Corazzini who spoke, his voice quiet and hard, and I could suddenly understand why he had reached the top in his own particularly tough and competitive