CHAPTER 11The night clouds rolled across the steeples of Bristol and the muffled voice of a church clock somberly rolled across the city, striking the hour of ten. The hush of a chill autumn night lay across the city, mantling the fog that started to deepen in the city streets.
In a small apartment on Regent street, a box-like machine sat quietly in a corner, staring at the growing gloom with fifty red, unwinking eyes.
At five minutes after the hour, there was a flickering and then there were only forty-nine. By eleven o’clock, the eyes had been cut down to forty-six.
The evening of the first, there were only thirty-nine.
By the third, there was only a dozen. And every hour that went by saw another light wink out….
He stood in a Moscow subway station, watching the trains thunder past
