On his way out through the guardroom, later, he was gripped with a sudden terror that outgoing 'Technical Personnel' might be searched; but he was passed straight through, and his outbreak of sweat cooled on him in the safety of the corridor.

He was able to get to Married Quarters in time to collar Betty for a Mess lunch, and he did not dare to take the rose from its hiding place until he was inside their cubicle. He presented the slightly crushed bloom to her with a smile that was as much relief as gallantry. For a moment Betty was speechless, her bright-eyed control wavering; then she said with a quiver in her voice 'That's lovely, darling' and turned her back to put the rose in a tumbler of water. It stayed on the little shelf which served her as a dressing-table for days, until long after it was shrivelled and dead.

'But I don't want to be in bloody Beehive,' the tall girl said. 'I'm an American citizen…'

'What's that got to do with it?' Her bureau chief was beginning to sound exasperated. 'You're an Associated Press correspondent, is what matters as of now.'

'With a duty to tell the folks back home what's happening – right?'

'Right. And Beehive is where it's happening.'

'Oh, come off it, Gene. This is where the handouts are, is all. Down here, the AP bureau could be run by any high-school kid who could write his own name.'

'Thank – you – Tonia – Lynd.'

Tonia grinned, suddenly. 'Sorry. Eugene Macallister, genius diplomat-quizzer, plus one high-school kid… Honestly, Gene, you know the score as well as I do. Till after Beehive Red, we can't even admit publicly that Beehive exists, let alone that it's operating already. And nobody down here's going to say anything,… Even if somebody did, by mistake, old Blue Pencil next door would kill it. Censorship, for God's sake! Anybody'd think this was Moscow.'

'Necessary censorship, honey. You got to admit that.'

'Oh, sure, it's necessary. So's a crutch, if you've got a broken leg. But my legs ain't broken, and I want to go walkabout.'

'Metaphor Minnie, at it again.… Look, Tonia, I know Vox Pop's your thing – and sure, you're feeling frustrated. But Beehive Red could happen any day and when it does I want you right here. Until then I want you right here because it'll take both of us to nose out even what news there is.'

'Take it in turn to say "thank you kindly" for the handouts?' Tonia snorted. 'What news there is, is up there on Surface. This witch-hunt thing, for instance…'

'What witch-hunt thing?' 'Actual, not metaphorical.'

'Oh, the nutters… No one's hunting them, as far as I can see.'

'Didn't you read the inquest report on that Beacon Hill shindig?'

Gene shrugged. 'A local riot got out of hand. What's so special about that? Untypical, I'll agree. These screwy festivals of theirs are usually pretty quiet. This one happened to blow up, is all.'

'Did you read it, Gene?'

'Sure. Some demonstrators busted in, the nutters reacted, the party got violent, a kid was run over, somebody stuck a spear in the boss-woman and in revenge a few of the nutters blood-sacrificed a demonstrator. AH very dramatic, for a one-off story, and singularly nasty. But a freak phenomenon – could happen any time with these religious jamborees. Not significant?

Tonia nodded. ‘I thought so. You read the story as published, not the full PA tape.'

'So?'

'I did read the tape. Local riot getting out of hand, my ass. That demo was planned, like a military operation. And as for the "blood sacrifice" – that yarn came from two witnesses only and the coroner as good as called them liars. Which did not get into the papers.'

'Tonia, honey,' Gene sighed, 'you've got a good nose for telling you when something stinks. None better. And sure, you could be right. But here and now, history's being made – and as journalists, we've got to get our priorities right, keep a sense of proportion, you know? Any ordinary time, you could chase this wild goose of yours and get some good copy out of it. But in the context of Beehive Amber -potentially the biggest story of our lifetime – that witch riot's nothing. Nothing. And you and I haven't got time for nothings.'

Tonia looked stubborn. 'I don't think it's nothing. My nose, that you're so flattering about, tells me the Beacon Hill attack was planned. Planned right here in Beehive – or topside in Whitehall. Act One of a deliberate diversion. And the curtain-raiser to Act Two was that Ben Stoddart man on the "Paul Grant Hour", on BBC

'Didn't see it.'

'I did… You talk about "the context of Beehive Amber". Know what, Gene? I think, in that context, this Government was up to something on Beacon Hill. And I want to know what and why.'

Gene began flipping through a pile of copy on his desk. He said casually: 'Keep an eye on it, then.'

Two years of working under Gene Macallister had taught her the danger signals, the lowering of the shutters, but she persisted. 'Topside, Gene. If I'm right, that's where the story is. Get me a Surface pass, huh?'

He did not look up. 'Sorry, honey. No.'

'Please, Gene.'

He laid his palm flat on the top sheet of copy, deliberately; danger signal number two. 'No, Tonia. In words of one syllable – we have Beehive accreditation and I will not have you endangering it by stirring up mud against the Government or by letting yourself appear to champion the witches.'

'Even if what my nose tells me is right?'

'For Chrissake, even more so if you're right! If the Department of Dirty Tricks, for its own good reasons, wants to make a scapegoat of the witches – and you start throwing spanners in the works – the Department of Dirty Tricks could have us out of here in no time flat. Persona rum bloody grata, and no reasons would have to be given. You know that.'

'In the context of Beehive Amber,' Tonia said tonelessly.

'Or even Beehive Red, any day now! That's what it's all about, Tonia. AP has a job to do here and AP is you and me and no one else. If we lost our Beehive status, AP would be unrepresented in Britain, as good as.'

Tonia said nothing. Gene seemed to take her silence as acquiescence, and after a while he continued with the paternal air which always infuriated her: 'One other thing to remember. AP correspondents do not identify themselves, in either the public or the official mind, with screwballs. So if you have any private sympathies with those naked pagans and their subversive ideas, for God's sake -and AP's-keep 'em private.'

Tonia, who had no particular feelings about the witches one way or the other, could not resist asking: 'Subversive of what?'

'Christianity, decency, Western civilization – you name it,' Gene said impatiently. 'And I'll tell you something. If they are being set up as scapegoats, they've asked for it.'

'Nero must have found the early Christians equally convenient'

'Now you're just being smart. Run along and let me work, there's a good girl. Go and watch "News at Ten". One of us ought to.'

Tonia went, her lips pursed. Out in the corridor she laughed to herself, suddenly: perhaps it was just as well Beehive doors didn't lend themselves to slamming.

'News at Ten', my ass.

Brenda Pavitt locked the last card-index drawer and straightened up, flexing her shoulders and stretching. It had been a long and tiring day but she was happy. As Chief Librarian of London Beehive, she had been commuting with Surface for the past year, building up the remarkable collection of books, documents and microfilms which now surrounded her; and it had been the kind of assignment librarians dream about. A staggering budget and a virtually free hand. She had had, of course, to request, collate and cater for departmental requirements – but these had been in amplification, not restriction, of her own judgement. Realistically, she admitted to herself that being the Chief Administrator's mistress had helped a lot; Reggie Harley had cut several corners for her and smoothed several paths. But she did not feel in the least guilty about it. She had never taken advantage of their relationship for her personal gain (she considered herself too well paid to need it), but the Library was something different; for that, she would exploit God himself. And Reggie had indulged her.