‘Your railway components which contribute twenty-eight per cent of your total revenues: we have massive plant in the Soviet Union making the same types of components; we could go to all your customers and offer to supply them the same articles at a price you could never match. We could wipe out your components business within a year.’

Sleder drummed his fingers on top of his cigarette box. ‘And what good will this do you?’

‘I’m coming to that now. We have in mind to offer you a deal: you do a small favour for us, and in return we won’t destroy you.’

Sleder took out another cigarette, and rolled it around between his fingers.

‘We just want you to start supplying fuel rods and bundles to a number of nuclear power stations in the United States, Canada, Spain, France and Britain; that is all.’ He sat back.

Sleder put the cigarette down on the desk. ‘I don’t know if I have missed something that you said, but that is precisely what I am trying to do at the moment. There are several other countries I would like to sell to as well.’

Carpov nodded. ‘You didn’t miss anything. We are not concerned about countries other than these – what you do there is your own affair – but with these five, we are prepared to give you plenty of assistance.’

‘And what do you want out of this? Do you want to supply the uranium?’

‘You’ll find out what we want, when we are ready to tell you.’

Sleder’s brain was churning over. The only possible reason he could think of was that the Russians needed an outlet for surplus uranium; but two years ago his company had approached the Russians to see whether they would be prepared to supply uranium and at what price, just as they had approached all the other uranium-producing countries with the same questions. The Soviet reply had been that they had no surplus uranium to sell. So why, Sleder wondered, had they changed their minds – or had they?

He didn’t like Carpov, didn’t like him one bit, but there was something in what the man said that made Sleder think. His own approach to the nuclear energy industry had been lethargic so far; it was time he pulled his finger out, and this was just the prompting he needed.

‘I cannot see any advantage in not co-operating,’ said Sleder.

‘I think that sums it up very well,’ said the Russian.

Chapter 17

17

The box of crème de menthe Turkish Delight slid across the spotless grey desk top, sprinkling bits of icing sugar as it went. Arthur must have had a birthday recently, I decided; he normally carried his Turkish Delight in a paper bag. I took one and pushed the box back.