What I needed to know, and badly, was what was special about the B-marked fuel that they had to be marked at all, and what was so special about them that Sleder felt the need to communicate in code. I needed someone who knew about fuel bundles to take a very close look at one, and to do that, I needed to obtain one. I didn’t have enough time to go hunting around Sleder’s factories, and in any event I wasn’t crazy about the idea of poking around a plant stuffed with radioactive nasties in case I ignored one No Entry sign too many and found myself in a No Return room. So I sat quietly at the grand master’s desk and tried to figure out an easier way.

My train of thought was suddenly interrupted when my eyes told my brain that a shadow had all of a sudden fallen across the desk, and my brain figured out that since the chief source of light, the window, was behind the desk and my eyes could see nothing unusual in front of them, then the cause of the shadow must be behind me.

During the three-millionths of a second it took my brain to reach this not illogical conclusion, the nerve ends in my right temple informed my brain that a cold metal object had just been pressed against my right temple. The hammer, anvil and echo chamber within my ear holes on both sides of my head received a series of vibrations, which they passed on to my brain, and my brain decoded these vibrations into words from a human being, male, Caucasian, of strongly Germanic origins. ‘Move and I’ll shoot,’ were the words.

A tidal wave of cold fear thundered through me and I felt that most of my innards had been flushed away. I froze for some moments, trying desperately to gather my wits, and to remember what to do in situations like this. I remembered. ‘Didn’t anyone tell you it’s rude to enter a room without knocking?’ I said. I wasn’t absolutely sure, but I thought I could hear him thinking.

‘I vill ask the questions.’

‘Okay. History’s my best subject.’

‘Shut up. Who are you and vot are you doing here?’

‘My name is Deke Sleder. I own the place.’

‘Very funny. I happen to know vot Herr Sleder looks like. I have worked for him for ten years.’ The gun pressed harder into my temple. ‘Who are you?’

‘The Ayatollah Khomeni – you probably don’t recognize me without my beard.’

I felt the gun push harder.

‘Vith a six-inch hole in your head, no one vill recognize you.’

‘Herr Sleder wouldn’t be pleased if you got blood all over his desk.’ I was cursing myself madly for having been too damn complacent; I had left my gun in the bedroom.