The American’s appalling dress sense and poorly kept body masked an intelligent, if limited, brain. He was at the peak of his career and would go no higher than where he was, although there were more rungs available for the climbing. He worked for the American Fossilized Corporation, a massive combine which specialized in the manufacture of aviation and rocket fuels, as plant manager of their Adamsville, Ohio, operation. It was public knowledge that American Fossilized was under scrutiny for a take-over bid from Gebruder Sleder GMBH (US) Inc., and it was public knowledge that the boss of Gebruder Sleder was one Deke Sleder. It was not, however, public knowledge that the principle business these days of American Fossilized, and in particular of its Adamsville plant, was the manufacture of uranium-filled fuel rods for nuclear power stations.

As the American stepped onto the deck, two burly men in double-breasted navy blazers, white trousers, peaked caps and white plimsolls, materialized from the stern cabin.

‘Can we help you?’ said one, guessing the man’s mother tongue first go. He spoke with a heavy German accent.

‘My name is Slan – er – Harry Slan. Mr Sleder is – er – expecting me.’

‘Good afternoon, Mr Slan,’ the henchman smiled. ‘Herr Sleder is expecting you.’ He stretched out his hand and took Slan’s bag. ‘Please, you follow me. Herr Sleder is sure you would like to take a rest after your journey, and he will welcome you aboard himself at drinks before dinner in two hours’ time at eight o’clock.’ The man led the way off down into the boat. Harry Slan could not see the wink that was exchanged between the man who remained behind and the man on the quay who was so short-sighted, he needed a 200mm lens in order to read his France-Soir.

They went down two flights of polished wooden stairs and then along a carpeted corridor. They went past a door marked Tirpitz, another marked Graf Spee, and stopped outside one marked Bismark. The man turned to Slan. ‘This is your cabin. On behalf of Herr Sleder, I wish you a very comfortable stay.’ With that he put down the bag and walked off.

Harry Slan picked the bag up and entered the cabin. Halfway in, he stopped in his tracks. Standing in the room, facing him, was a tall dark-haired girl, with a strong, beautifully proportioned body that almost rippled with energy. She put her hands on her hips and smiled at him. Her breasts were large and firm, and lifted up and down slightly as she breathed. The only stitch of clothing on her entire body was a minute bikini bottom, either side of the front of which sprouted thick black tufts of hair.

Harry Slan gulped and started to back out of the room. ‘Sorry – I’m sorry – er – wrong room.’

‘You must be Harry?’ she said, with a soft German accent.

‘Er – yes – er – sorry.’