The Smog by John Creasey Page B

Palfrey.”
    â€œWe’ll have a break for half an hour,” Palfrey said, and Joyce, who had been at the back of the room, signalled to two men who came in with trays and trolleys laden with food and drink. Palfrey went along to the lift with Clitheroe, who was very subdued but who turned to face Palfrey as the lift door opened.
    â€œYou will have my absolute cooperation, Palfrey. I shall dedicate myself to this.”
    Palfrey, looking into pale grey eyes, read not only the signs of shock but grim determination.
    Five minutes later, the Home Secretary’s car started off from the Elite Hotel, a police escort car following.
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    At the very moment that the Home Secretary’s car began to move, the Deputy Governor of the State of Wyoming, in America, was moving away in his car from a fund-raising luncheon party. He was sober, replete and happy, noting with pleasure the brightness of the sun blazing down on the roofs of the hundreds of automobiles moving along the two lane highway towards the city centre.
    The Governor sniffed.
    â€œDon’t often notice smog like this,” he remarked to his wife.
    â€œI noticed it in Estes Park last Sunday,” his wife remarked. “We were driving along that road where all the muskrats and the chipmunks were.”
    â€œRoad cut through a valley,” her husband said, and sniffed again, then rubbed his eyes. “It stings, too.”
    â€œJust like it did when we were in Los Angeles in the summer,” agreed his wife.
    The Deputy Governor gazed at the mountains which stretched across Yellowstone Park and the Grand Tetons, and sniffed again.
    â€œPerhaps it’s some pep they’re putting in the gas,” his wife remarked casually. “They—” She broke off, catching her breath, and tears began to sting her eyes. “Joe, do you want to shut the windows and put on the air-conditioning?”
    â€œGood idea,” her husband agreed.
    Then, a passing car swerved and almost smacked broadside on. The driver, with a scared expression, was wiping his eyes. The lights ahead turned red and the Deputy Governor slowed down. On the sidewalk, people were coughing. Suddenly there was a crunch of sound, the rending of metal on metal, and two cars were locked together; both drivers had their hands at their faces. Another car stopped alongside the Deputy Governor’s, and tears were pouring down his face.
    â€œJoe!” his wife gasped. “It’s hurting my throat. It’s going right down into my lungs! Joe! ”she repeated with sudden, rasping hoarseness. “ Joe —”
    Police sirens blared.
    Two more cars crashed.
    The lights turned green but dozens of vehicles were now stationary, the drivers getting out handkerchiefs to wipe their eyes. A scarlet Thunderbird, coming fast, ignored the lights and raced between the stationary cars, weaving from lane to lane – and others followed, all of them heading towards the mountains.
    All the time there was the dull throb, throb, throb, of auto-engines turning slowly.
    â€œWe’ve got to stop the engines,” the Deputy Governor gasped. “They’re burning up the air. They—” He pushed open the door of the car and staggered onto the road. Almost at once he began to cough, then to choke. Tears streamed down his cheeks and yet the saliva in his mouth had dried up.
    The door of a car opposite him was open, the driver half-in, half-out of the car, obviously unconscious, one hand caught against the door handle, supporting him. The radio of this car was blaring a song; then suddenly there was a man’s voice.
    â€œThis is WYIG, your friendly station Mountview-Wyoming.” The voice was hoarse and rasping. “There is an emergency in the City of Mountview … A poisonous gas so far unidentified is spreading from Yellowstone Road north towards the downtown area … My God, I’m looking out of my window and right now I can see people